Take Me Back to You (Part Two): gift for dropout

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Back to Part One

They’re thirty miles outside of Omaha the next day when the car breaks down. One minute, they’re driving along; Jon is checking his email on his phone and Spencer is singing along to The Best of Pavement when a ton of smoke starts coming out from under the hood.

“Holy shit!” Spencer says, and he reaches out to smack Jon’s arm. “Look!”

“Huh?” Jon looks up, rubbing his arm. “Holy shit, the car is smoking! Pull over.”

“I can’t pull over! There’s a car in the other lane!”

“Hold on, okay, we just have to merge into the right lane and onto the shoulder –“

“I know that.”

Spencer waits for a car to pass them and he’s able to merge and then drift onto the shoulder of the road. Once they’re pulled over, Jon immediately jumps out to investigate, but getting too close just makes him start to cough.

“I don’t want to get too close in case it explodes,” he says between coughs.

“It’s not going to explode.” Spencer joins him where he’s standing next to the passenger’s side door, and cautiously creeps in front of the car to open the hood. He gets a face full of smoke and tries to wave it away as he chokes.

Jon has to laugh, just a little bit. Because of course something this ridiculous would happen to them. The smoking lessens somewhat now that the car is stopped, but it still looks pretty bad.

“What are you laughing at?” Spencer buttons up his coat and crosses his arms over his chest. “We could have died.”

“I don’t think we were in danger of death.”

“You just said you thought the car was going to explode.”

“I meant after we got out of it.”

Spencer takes out his phone. “I’m going to call the rental company and see if they can get us a tow truck and a new car.”

Jon has to admire that Spencer doesn’t really have a crisis mode: sure, he might have the initial freak-out, but once it wears off, he just matter-of-factly gets down to business. When Spencer gets off the phone, he relays the news: a tow truck will be there within an hour, and they can’t have a new car until tomorrow.

“I talked them into making the tow truck driver drop us off at our hotel,” Spencer says. He sighs and starts pacing, and Jon stops him by putting both hands on Spencer’s shoulders and holding him still. Spencer looks at him in surprise.

“It’s fine. We were going to stay here overnight anyway, right?”

Spencer nods. “Yes.”

“And at least it’s not your car; it’s a rental. It’s going to be fine.”

“I’m not freaking out,” Spencer says. “I’m just pacing.”

“I know, but your pacing is starting to stress me out.”

“It’s how I deal with my stress.”

Jon opens the door to the backseat and pulls out his guitar. He takes it out of its case and slips the strap over his head. He walks around to the bumper and leans against it, and Spencer joins him.

“What are you doing?” Spencer says under his breath. “We’re on a highway –“

“I’m writing you a song.” Jon strums a few simple chords. He starts to sing: “We were on our way to Omaha/when the rental car broke down/and now it’s smoking up and we’re just standing around –“

“You are so weird,” Spencer interrupts, but he’s starting to smile.

“Waiting for the tow truck. Now you have to sing that part back.”

Spencer makes the same face he always made when he had to play tambourine, and he echoes Jon’s line: “Waiting for the tow truck.”

“And this is the waiting for the tow truck song,” Jon sings.

Spencer is giving him this funny look, and he shuffles a little bit closer. “Is there a second verse?”

“There can be. You can make it up.” Jon plays the same chords as before, trying to keep up the jaunty rhythm even as his fingers start to get numb from the cold.

“Um.” Spencer shivers and presses closer to Jon, who can feel his warmth through the layer of his own coat. He sings, “I can’t think of any more words” and starts to laugh. Jon smiles back at him and keeps playing along, humming to the tune but unable to think of any other lyrics himself.

And then Spencer turns to Jon, and he cups his hand along Jon’s jaw and leans in. “Don’t say anything,” he instructs in the half a second before they kiss.

Jon’s right hand drops from the guitar, leaving a chord hanging in the air. He doesn’t breathe in that instant; doesn’t do anything, because his brain is going, Holyshitholyshitholyshit at the same time it’s telling him to kiss him back, stupid, this is what you’ve wanted forever. So he takes a breath and moves his lips, focuses on the feel of Spencer’s fingertips against his stubble, the softness of Spencer’s lips, the way his other hand is pressed on Jon’s chest, right over his heart.

When Spencer pulls away, Jon’s lips chase after Spencer’s, kissing him again. It’s soft and slow, and Jon cups Spencer’s face in his hands, trying to draw out this kiss for as long as he possibly can. He tries to get closer, but, oh, yeah, the guitar is in the way – it bumps against Spencer, who says, “Oof,” and steps back.

“Sorry. I kind of forgot about the guitar,” Jon says.

“It’s okay.” Spencer places a kiss at the corner of Jon’s mouth. “I don’t think I’m injured.”

Jon smiles. “Good.”

“We should probably stop making out unless we want the tow truck driver to catch us in a compromising position.”

“Compromising position? That makes it sound like we’re naked.”

Spencer’s face flushes. “Which we’re definitely not.”

“No, because we’d freeze to death, and that would take all the fun out of it.”

“Well, I – um. The driver should be here soon.” Spencer takes out his phone to look at the time.

“And the sooner the driver gets here, the closer we are to getting drunk.”

Spencer tilts his head to the side in question.

“Remember, we said we were going dancing in Omaha.”

“Oh, god. Yeah, I almost forgot.”

“You have your phone out; check for clubs we can go to.”

“I kind of want to Google the craziest shit and see what comes up for clubs. Remember that character Stefon from SNL, and how he’d list a ton of crazy stuff, like, ‘New York’s hottest club is RAAAAARRRR! It has a Jell-O slide and someone’s grandma dressed in a tracksuit and lions chained to the walls.’”

Jon laughs. “I don’t know if anything like that exists even in New York.”

Spencer grins down at his phone. “Would you go to a gay club?”

“Um, yeah. Why not?”

“I wasn’t sure.”

“I just got done making out with you; I think it’s safe to say I’d be okay with a gay club.”

Spencer’s mouth opens in surprise. “Okay.”

“Even if I weren’t into dudes, I’d be okay with it,” Jon says.

“But you are … into dudes.”

“Yes.”

“This is probably the most awkward conversation I’ve ever had.”

“I’m going to go ahead and assume you’re into dudes, too.”

“Yes,” Spencer says.

“And I’m also going to assume you want to kiss me some more.”

“Nah, you’re not that great.” Spencer smiles and tugs Jon closer by his wrist.

“Wounding my ego so soon.”

“I think you can deal with it.”

Spencer is about to lean in for another kiss when they’re caught in the bright lights of the tow truck.

A woman hops out of the truck – small, in her forties, and wearing a jumpsuit that says “Ted’s Towing Co.” on one side and an embroidered name badge that reads “Mary H.” on the other. She kind of reminds Jon of Melissa McCarthy’s character from Bridesmaids.

“Are you the guys who need to be towed?” she says.

“Yeah,” Spencer says. He points at the trunk of the car. “Um, we need to get our stuff out first.”

“My name’s Mary,” she says, and she shakes their hands. “Welcome to Omaha!” And then she whoops and hollers like this is the most hilarious thing she’s ever said. “Nice way to be welcomed, by breaking down on the interstate.”

Jon shares a look with Spencer, and Jon gets his duffel out of the trunk and puts away his guitar, and Spencer grabs his suitcase.

“Do you fix cars?” Spencer asks her. “Because we don’t know what’s wrong with it.”

“I used to, when I was in a motorcycle gang,” she says. “The ‘H’ stands for ‘Hellraiser.’” She points at her name on her chest.

Jon is fascinated. Mary is one of those people who probably has a great backstory. “You were in a motorcycle gang?”

“Yes. But I don’t fix cars now. I just tow ‘em. Someone told me you guys need a ride?”

“We do,” Spencer says. “Because we don’t have a car anymore.”

“Well, start walking,” Mary says.

Spencer looks like he’s about to throw up, but Jon just throws his head back and cackles.

“I like you,” Mary says to Jon. “You can sit up front. We’ll make him sit in the backseat.” She looks in Spencer’s direction.

“She likes me,” Jon says to Spencer as Mary goes about towing the car. “She’s a fucking badass.”

“I’m kind of scared. She was in a motorcycle gang. She probably killed people.”

“I didn’t kill people,” Mary says, clearly eavesdropping on their conversation. “I protected people from getting killed.”

“She just keeps getting more and more badass,” Jon whispers.

“Get in, guys.” Mary points at the truck. “Where are we going?”

Spencer gives her the address for the hotel, and Mary drives them there. She’s like the best cab driver ever, except for how she’s not a cab driver. (She also drops gems like, “I was once a vigilante law enforcement officer,” “I had an FBI agent on my tail for twenty years until I married him,” and “I started driving a tow truck because I like rescuing people.”)

Before Jon gets out of the truck, he turns to her to say, “Thanks.”

Mary nods. “You’re welcome. And tell your husband to relax, goddammit.”

“That’s – he’s not my husband.”

“Well, you sure act like you’re married,” she says. For a moment, she appears to contemplate Spencer, who’s standing on the sidewalk. “Probably just needs to get laid.”

Jon coughs. “Okay. Well.”

“It would do him a world of good,” Mary says.

“I’m sure it would. Anyway, thanks again.” Jon hops out before Mary can continue on her Spencer-needs-to-get-laid tangent, and he waves goodbye. Mary waves back and continues on her way as Jon watches their rental car go away.

“What did she tell you?” Spencer asks when Jon joins him.

“Oh, nothing. She did think you were my husband, though.”

Spencer’s eyes get a little bigger. “That’s interesting.”

“I’m kind of sentimental about the rental car not being ours anymore,” Jon says.

“I know, but maybe this time we’ll get a car that won’t start smoking as we’re driving down the highway.”

“Let’s hope.”

They approach the entrance of the hotel and step inside when the automatic doors part.

“I think we should take a nap after that experience,” Spencer says.

“And then go get drunk and dance?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

*

The club is crowded and filled with the sound of a dance beat pounding so loudly that the floor actually shakes. When they walk in, there’s no way to get up to the bar to get a drink without physically moving people out of the way, so Jon says, “Maybe we should wait to get drinks.”

“Or I should go get people to move so we can get drinks.” Before Jon can say anything, Spencer approaches the bar, and people actually step aside for him. Some dudes are checking him out, and one even tries to talk to Spencer, who fixes him with his best glare. The poor guy looks absolutely defeated without Spencer’s having even said a word, and Jon would feel sorry for him if he didn’t want Spencer himself. Within a few minutes, Spencer has gotten their drinks and returns to where Jon is standing near the edge of the bar.

“What is this?” Jon asks, looking down at the glass in his hand.

“Vodka tonic.”

Jon shrugs and drinks it. “I’m not really a dancer,” he says into Spencer’s ear.

“What?” Spencer shouts back.

“I’m not really a dancer!” Jon yells.

“Oh! Me neither!” Spencer says, but the crowd pushes them so close together that they’re pretty much dancing whenever they even try to move.

Spencer sips his own drink. “Hey, so,” he says into Jon’s ear, and it’s so fucking loud in here Jon has to pay extra attention to the words. “About this afternoon.”

“What about it?”

“Kissing you.”

“Yeah? If you say anything like ‘We shouldn’t have,’ I’m hitching a ride back to Chicago with Mary.”

Spencer gives him a look that fondly says, You idiot. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.” His mouth is right against Jon’s ear.

“Me, too.”

“I didn’t come to see you because I thought that would happen,” Spencer shout-says, “but I’m glad it did.”

“I’m glad, too.”

Spencer downs the rest of his drink and wraps an arm around Jon’s neck, pressing closer to him by sheer force of the bodies moving around them. Jon would be lying right now if he said he wasn’t turned on, but he also doesn’t want their first time to be dry-humping in a club after getting buzzed on drinks that tasted like they were ninety percent vodka and ten percent tonic. At this point, Jon doesn’t even want to assume there’s going to be a first time. He doesn’t want to jump to conclusions and consider it a foregone one.

And then Spencer’s hands are on his hips, their bodies moving together to the beat. They’re probably – okay, definitely – the worst dancers there, but nobody can tell with the way they’re packed so tightly together in the crowd. They’re just two more bodies swaying to Rihanna or Madonna or whatever’s playing right now. It’s so loud that it’s hard to tell; all Jon can feel is the beat.

Spencer’s hands slip under Jon’s shirt, right above the waist of his jeans, and Jon’s pulse starts to pound in his ears like it’s keeping time with the music.

“We should get some more drinks,” Jon says, not because he wants a drink, and not because Spencer’s hands make him uncomfortable – it’s that he doesn’t know what to do with Spencer’s hands, or the knowledge that Spencer wants to put his hands on Jon’s bare skin.

“Okay,” Spencer says, and even though Jon doesn’t hear the word, he can read his lips. He lets Spencer drag him by the wrist toward the bar, where Spencer gets their drinks again.

“I feel like I’m soaked in sweat.” Jon pushes some damp hair away from his forehead and accepts the drink Spencer puts in his other hand.

“You look fine.” Spencer smiles at him.

“Do you mean I look ‘fine’ or I look ‘fiiiiine’?”

Spencer does this thing Jon loves, where he laughs so hard he snorts a little bit. “I’d say the latter.”

“You’re looking fiiiiine yourself, Mr. Smith,” Jon says. “Also, I don’t know why I just called you ‘Mr. Smith.’ It sounded better in my head.”

“It makes me feel fancy. You can totally call me that.”

Someone bumps into Jon from behind, and he stumbles forward, catching his balance on Spencer’s shoulder. He lets go of Spencer and straightens himself up.

“I feel like we should go find a dive bar somewhere,” Jon says. “It might be less crowded.”

“I was kind of hoping you’d say that. I’m not too into the ‘being pushed and not being able to talk’ thing.”

“I thought I saw a place a block down from here, when we were in the cab,” Jon says. “We can go there.”

Spencer nods in agreement, and they decide to leave, but not before finishing their drinks.

Once they’re outside, the cold air feels good against Jon’s skin. His head is buzzing, and he barely registers Spencer’s fingers sliding through his. They walk down to the little dive bar, which reminds Jon of so many places back home. It’s dark and it smells bad, and there’s not any music – just the sound of conversation.

“This feels a lot better,” he says to Spencer, and they take seats at the bar. “I don’t think we’re cut out for the dance clubs.”

“Probably not.”

“Also, I’m switching to beer.”

“Good plan.”

Once they get their beers, Jon clinks the bottles together. “To the car not breaking down on the rest of the trip.”

“To the car not breaking down,” Spencer repeats.

“And also to Mary for rescuing us,” Jon adds.

“’Vigilante law enforcement officer,’” Spencer says, quoting her. “Dear god.”

“She could fuck your shit up, and you know it.”

“I know, which is exactly why she scared me.”

“She thought you were my husband,” Jon says.

Spencer sits back. “What?”

“Yeah, she said, ‘You need to tell your husband to relax,’ and I said, ‘He’s not my husband,’ and she looked out the window at you and determined that you needed to get laid.”

Spencer almost chokes on his beer. “Seriously?”

“Yes.”

“She’s probably right. It’s been a while.”

“How long is a while?”

“Longer than I’d like to admit.”

“It’s probably not as long as me,” Jon says. When Spencer just looks at him, he volunteers, “Since well before I got divorced.”

“I think you win.”

Jon laughs. “Not exactly the kind of thing you want to win.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Well, I think what we can deduce from this is that Mary has very keen powers of observation.”

“It comes from all those years from running from the FBI.”

“I can imagine you’d have to be pretty sharp to elude the FBI for that long,” Spencer says.

They start to laugh, and Jon says, “I keep forgetting that we actually have to drive something like eight hours tomorrow.”

“We should probably go back to the hotel after this,” Spencer says.

“Where are we driving to tomorrow?”

“Sterling, Colorado.”

“Our first small-town experience.”

“The next day we’re somewhere in Utah. Then I figured we could stop in Vegas, and then L.A.”

“Four more days.”

Spencer says, “Yep.”

And it hits Jon then, that he has four more days with Spencer and then he doesn’t know what. He could have four more days and then this whole thing will fade into the past and just be something he can look back on with some good memories.

*

Jon wakes up the next morning and is alone in bed. He wonders how exactly that happened. He’s also still in the same jeans and t-shirt he wore last night, and he couldn’t even be bothered to take off his shoes. Spencer is on the bed across from his, in a similar state, except he managed to get under the covers.

“Ugh,” Jon says, rolling out of bed and going into the bathroom to brush his teeth. He decides to risk looking at himself in the mirror: tired, disheveled, and he hasn’t shaved since they left Chicago. He sticks the toothbrush in his mouth and tries not to think about how much better he’d feel if he got a few more hours of sleep.

He spits and rinses, and decides while he’s in there, he better shower, too. He smells like his own sweat and other people’s sweat and cologne and booze, which isn’t the most pleasant combination. He steps into the hot water, realizing only then that his toiletries are still in his bag. He uses the hotel stuff instead, which is some fancy-sounding brand he’s never heard of.

Jon also doesn’t have anything to change into once he gets out of the shower, so he wraps the towel around his waist with the plan to sneak over to his suitcase and grab some clothes.

But right as he’s about to open the door, Spencer knocks. Jon opens it, tightening the towel around himself. It’s not like he’s ashamed or anything, but opening the door and being naked in front of Spencer would be just a little bit awkward at this point.

“Morning,” Spencer says, and then he blinks a few times and stares.

“Hey. Bathroom’s all yours.”

“Thanks.” Spencer rubs at his eyes. “What time did we get in last night? Do you remember?”

Jon shakes his head and covers his mouth with the back of his hand while he yawns, careful to hold on to the towel. “Late, I’m guessing.”

“I’m going to take a quick shower,” Spencer says, and he shuts the door. Jon hears the click of the lock a second afterward.

Jon gets out a new t-shirt and jeans from his bag and gets dressed while the water’s still running. He sits on the edge of the bed and towels his hair dry, and he looks over the room service menu for something to do. An omelet costs twenty dollars; a side of fruit is ten. He tosses it onto the nightstand as his stomach starts to growl.

Spencer is taking forever in the shower, and Jon needs to eat something besides the smashed-up granola bar he found buried at the bottom of his bag. He texts his parents to ask about Marley, Dylan, and Clover, and his mom sends back a picture of the three of them curled up together on the couch. He smiles and tucks his phone away.

When Spencer finally emerges from the shower, it’s in a cloud of steam that smells like the soap he used, with damp hair and flushed cheeks. Jon is watching TV to pass the time, but he looks away long enough to take in the view, to see Spencer wrapped in a towel. The doorway to the bathroom is slightly out of Jon’s line of sight, and Spencer put his suitcase in the closet across from it, so Jon can’t see him completely. But he can see enough, like the dip in Spencer’s back and the damp hair at his neck.

He looks back at the TV, because he’s not sure if he’s allowed to be looking. What’s the protocol for what happens after you make out with one of your friends?

“Hey,” Jon says, and it comes out sounding funny, so he corrects himself and tries for a more normal sounding, “Hey.”

“Yeah?” Spencer calls.

“We should go get breakfast.” Jon taps his fingers against his knees, mostly for something to do with his hands.

“Okay. I just need to get dressed, and then we can get on the road.”

On the road sounds good. Anywhere that Jon won’t be tempted to test out exactly how far their boundaries go now would be good.

*

First they have to take a cab to get their new rental car, and from there they drive a few more exits down the highway before they pull into a diner that, from the outside, looks like it’s seen better days. Inside, though, it’s clean and bright, and they have really, really good coffee. Jon hasn’t had good coffee on this trip since that first morning in Chicago.

Jon cuts into his stack of pancakes. “This is the best kind of hangover food.”

“It really is.” Spencer is eating an omelet, and it’s one that does not cost twenty dollars like at the hotel. It’s probably better, too. “So,” he says, reaching for his coffee, “I booked us a room online at a bed and breakfast in Sterling.”

“Yeah? It looks nice?”

“It does. I always wanted to stay in a bed and breakfast.”

“I never have,” Jon says. “For some reason I always imagine every bed and breakfast is like the one on Gilmore Girls.”

Spencer laughs. “My sisters were into that show.”

“It deserved an Emmy, Spencer. Don’t laugh at me.” Jon stirs his coffee and smiles down into the cup.

“I believe you.”

“So, you know, if this isn’t half as charming as the inn from Gilmore Girls, I’m going to be disappointed. Also, I almost just said Golden Girls instead of Gilmore Girls.”

“It would have been something if Sophia and Blanche ran an inn.”

Jon smacks his hand on the table and swallows his coffee. “Holy shit, they did! There was a spin-off where they ran a hotel in Miami!”

Spencer eyes him warily. “How do you know this?”

“My nana Walker loved it. It was called The Golden Palace.”

“Oh my god.”

“It only lasted for a season because it wasn’t very good, but they totally ran a hotel.”

“You’re going to have to show me some episodes online sometime.”

“If they’re even online. It’s one of those rare shows since it didn’t have many episodes.”

“You can find anything online, though,” Spencer says. “No matter how weird it is, there’s an audience for it. If you can think, ‘I wonder if it’s online,’ chances are it probably is. And that goes for anything, from TV shows to porn.”

“You have a point.” Jon slides a piece of pancake through the remnants of syrup on his plate.

“Hey, not to change the subject completely –“

“You totally want to change the subject.”

“Okay, maybe. But you haven’t gotten to use your camera much yet.”

Jon shrugs and takes a bite. “I haven’t been that inspired by anything. Everything’s so flat. I’m kind of hoping once we’re in the mountains I can get some shots.”

“Once we’re in Utah, probably.”

“Hey, so, you mentioned Vegas, too. You wanted to stop and see your family?”

“Yeah, I did, if that’s okay.”

“Dude, of course it’s okay. Do you get to see them often being in L.A.?”

“It’s not that far away, but I still don’t get home that often because I’m on tour or busy with other stuff.”

“I’d love to see your mom. She was always so awesome.”

“She asked about you all the time after the band split.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Spencer doesn’t offer any more details, though. But he adds, “I told her I was going to see you while I was on this trip, and that made her happy. She always liked you.”

“Because I’m charming and friendly,” Jon says jokingly. “And handsome.”

“Don’t oversell yourself, Walker,” Spencer warns, but his tone is light.

“Hey!”

“But no, she probably did like you for those reasons. I like you for those reasons, too.”

Jon beams at him, so stupidly happy to be here, to have Spencer smiling at him and 1,550 more miles to be with him.

*

The bed and breakfast is actually on a ranch, with horses and everything. It’s dark when they pull in and get up to their room, though. The room has a double bed and a couple of nightstands, and not much else. There’s also a bottle of wine on the nightstand, with a couple of glasses, a corkscrew, and a note from the innkeeper thanking them for staying there.

“Ooh, wine,” Jon says, and he uncorks the bottle. “Do you want some?”

Spencer sits on the side of the bed and takes off his shoes and socks. “Sure.” He looks around the room. “This is kind of – very floral. Like ten different floral patterns threw up in here. I thought it was going to be more western.”

“Well, it’s no Independence Inn, but what is?”

When Spencer gives him a look, Jon clarifies, “The inn from Gilmore Girls,” and Spencer just shakes his head in what Jon hopes is affection.

Jon pours them each a glass and hands one to Spencer. He sits down next to him.

“What is this?” Spencer sniffs it.

“It is …” Jon looks at the bottle. “Merlot.”

Deciding that it smells okay, Spencer takes a sip.

“Why were you sniffing the wine?”

“Because I read somewhere you’re supposed to do that. To pick up on all the subtle notes and textures.”

Jon laughs. “My rule is, I don’t give a shit about notes and textures. If it tastes good, it tastes good.”

“I kind of always wanted to be a wine snob.”

“Ah, your life’s one true dream, unfulfilled.”

“I still have time. I have a goal of one day driving up to the vineyards in Napa and doing a bunch of wine tastings.”

“If you become a wine snob, I will never drink wine with you again. You’ll become one of those people who has to swirl it around in the glass to release the different scents and you’ll start talking about undernotes and stuff –“

“How do you know all of this?”

“Sideways,” Jon says. “That’s the same movie where the guy bitches about being served merlot. I always liked merlot, though.” He gets up and crosses the room, investigating what’s behind the curtains. Being so close to Spencer – and the glass of wine he gulped down – is making him lightheaded. “Oh, check it out, we have a balcony.”

“It’s freezing outside.”

“Come outside for a little bit. We have coats.”

Jon sets down his wine glass to put on his coat and waits for Spencer. He grabs the wine bottle and slides back the glass door. Spencer steps outside with him, shivering.

“It’s pretty out here,” Jon says, taking in the starry sky and twinkling lights along the fence below.

“It is, yeah.” Spencer puts his wine glass on the ledge of the balcony, and he looks like he’s contemplating Jon, taking him in. “I don’t want this to be it for us,” he says.

“I –“ Jon doesn’t breathe for a few seconds. “What?”

“I keep thinking, I’m going to have to say goodbye to you in a few days, and I don’t want this to be the end. I don’t want it to end up like before.”

“I don’t, either.” Jon can’t think of anything else to say, so he kisses Spencer instead. It’s full of all the want and longing he doesn’t know how to express any other way. He holds onto the lapels of Spencer’s coat, and Spencer’s hands go to his waist, wrapping around him and holding him close. There are too many layers between them, and they keep shivering between kisses. It’s like they can’t get close enough.

“Jon,” Spencer says, and he pulls away, but not too far before his mouth finds Jon’s again. His tongue slips pasts Jon’s lips, and Jon makes a soft noise into Spencer’s mouth. It’s so good, better than he ever really imagined kissing Spencer would be – and he had imagined it was going to be pretty damn spectacular.

“Inside,” Jon says against Spencer’s mouth.

“Yes.”

Jon reluctantly breaks the kiss so he can speak. “Why do I have a feeling we’d get locked out, just because that’s the kind of thing that would happen to us?”

“Shit, I hope not. You never know with those doors, right? I was on a vacation once and thought I got locked out on the balcony, but I just wasn’t pushing the door hard enough. I sat outside for an hour before I figured it out.”

“When did that happen?”

“Two years ago. But I was in Hawaii, so it didn’t matter if I had to stay outside.”

“This is not Hawaii.”

“This is like the opposite of Hawaii, weather-wise.”

Jon turns around and pushes open the door.

“Oh, thank god,” Spencer says, and they go inside. “Because I was not going to fuck you in the freezing cold on a balcony.”

Jon laughs and pulls Spencer to him again as soon as the door is shut. “Hold on, we should get rid of our coats.”

Spencer regards him wryly. “Yeah, it would be helpful if we took them off.”

“Unless you’re into having sex with coats on, because we could probably make that work somehow.”

“We would just end up with stains on them.”

Jon wrinkles his nose. “That’s not a good mental image.”

“Neither is having sex with coats on.”

As Jon is tossing his coat onto a chair, Spencer asks, “Did you bring condoms?”

“No, did you?”

“No.”

“Um, okay. So …”

“There’s other stuff we can do.”

Spencer grins and kisses him again; he tastes like the wine, sweet and a little bitter at the same time. Jon blindly unbuttons Spencer’s shirt, not wanting to stop kissing him long enough to actually look at what he’s doing. He manages to get all the buttons open, and he pushes the shirt off Spencer’s shoulders. His fingers slide over skin, loving the feel of the goosebumps that suddenly pop up at his touch.

They stop kissing long enough for Jon to get his own shirt off, and he says, “We should just get rid of our pants now.”

“That,” Spencer says, “is the best idea ever.”

Jon slips out of his shoes and unbuttons his pants, and when he looks up again, Spencer is wearing only a pair of black boxer-briefs. Jon steps out of his own pants and attempts to kick them across the room, but his foot gets stuck and he has to reach down to get it out.

“My pants are trying to trap me,” he says. He throws them on the chair with his coat and sits on the bed. Spencer stands in front of him, and then he places a hand on Jon’s chest to make him back up so Spencer has enough room to settle himself between Jon’s legs. He has one knee on either side of Jon’s thighs, and even though they’re both still in their underwear, touching like this is almost too much. Jon hooks his thumbs in the waistband of Spencer’s underwear and slowly pushes them down over the curve of Spencer’s ass, and then in the front, over his cock.

Spencer says Jon’s name in a soft, strangled voice as the fabric moves over his cock. He’s already half-hard, and Jon just stares for a moment, taking him in. Spencer is longer than he is, but not as thick, and Jon slides his hand along the length, rubbing his thumb over the head. Spencer shifts forward, lining himself up with Jon, who’s still (unfortunately) wearing his boxers.

“Let me get these off,” he says, and Spencer stands to step out of his own underwear as Jon raises his hips and kicks off his boxers. “Come here.” He pulls Spencer back into his lap. “Are you okay like this?” Jon looks up at Spencer, and he hopes the answer is yes, because having Spencer straddle him like this is incredibly hot.

“Yes.” Spencer wraps his arms around Jon’s neck and kisses him, and Jon reaches up to brush the hair away from Spencer’s eyes. He rolls his hips as they kiss, and Jon lets out a gasp. “You like that?”

All Jon can do is move his own hips back in response. He slides a hand between them, wrapping it around both of their cocks, trying to slick up his hand with pre-come to lessen the friction, sliding it up and down. Spencer shudders and pushes into Jon’s hand. The slide of Spencer’s cock along his makes Jon moan, and the sound is quickly muffled by Spencer kissing him.

“Fuck, I think I’m close,” Jon says.

One of Spencer’s hands moves from Jon’s shoulder to wrap around where Jon’s hand is on their cocks, and if Jon was close before, now he’s seriously about to come. Spencer locks their fingers together, and Jon’s hips snap forward as he comes over their hands and stomachs. He tries to catch his breath, trembling through his orgasm, watching Spencer, waiting for him to follow.

Spencer keeps his eyes on Jon as he comes, shouting out Jon’s name and holding on to him. He stays that way as he comes down, pressing soft kisses to Jon’s mouth.

Jon pulls Spencer down with him, and Spencer collapses, winding a leg around one of Jon’s, throwing an arm across his chest, surrounding him. Jon does his best to clean them up with the edge of the sheet, but he’s too sleepy and content to really care. Spencer buries his face in the crook between Jon’s neck and shoulder, and they fall asleep that way, tangled up in each other, too tired to move.

*

The next morning, Jon doesn’t want to get out of bed. He wakes up with Spencer curled up behind him, and he knows the longer he stays in bed, the later they’re going to get on the road. There’s a strong possibility that if he doesn’t get moving, the two of them will never get up today.

He puts on his pants so he can go outside and get their wine glasses from last night; he empties whatever’s left in the glasses down the bathroom drain. It kind of hurts him inside to see wine go to waste.

From the bathroom, he can hear Spencer stir in bed. Jon walks back into the bedroom, and fuck, Spencer looks amazing. He’s lying in bed, his hair sticking up in several different directions, and he’s completely naked. Jon may be getting turned on again.

“Good morning,” Jon says, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“It’s way too early. Why are you awake?”

“I thought we were going to get on the road early.”

“Not this early.”

Jon glances at the clock on the nightstand. It’s seven a.m. Okay, maybe it is too early.

“You should get undressed and get back in bed.”

“I’m not totally dressed.” Jon looks down at himself. He’s still wearing the jeans he pulled on so he could go outside.

Spencer lazily strokes himself, and Jon’s eyes immediately drift down to Spencer’s cock.

“You can watch me get myself off,” Spencer says, “or you can come over here.”

“Fuck,” Jon says under his breath. He stands up and takes off his jeans, and he crawls over toward Spencer. “What do you want me to do?”

Spencer doesn’t say anything – he just grabs Jon’s hand and places it over his own on his cock, both of them working to get Spencer off. “I want you to watch me,” Spencer says, his breath hitching in his throat, “and then I’m going to –“ He loses his train of thought as Jon flicks his thumb over the head.

“What are you going to do?” Jon resists the urge to touch himself with his other hand; his cock is heavy, leaking pre-come. Spencer looks debauched, his naked body stretched out, his back arching off the mattress.

All he gets in response is a long, low moan, and then Spencer fists his hands in the sheets and cries out as he comes. Jon wipes his hand on the sheets and places soft kisses along Spencer’s neck and collarbone.

“You never said what you were going to do.”

With one easy motion, Spencer has Jon flat on his back. Jon looks up at him in surprise, and Spencer gives him a self-satisfied smile. He moves down Jon’s body, kissing his chest, his stomach, one of his hipbones, before taking Jon’s cock in his mouth.

“Oh, shit, Spencer,” Jon says, and Spencer places a hand on one of Jon’s hips, holding him down as he sucks the head into his mouth and lowers it down the shaft. He licks up the underside of Jon’s cock, tongues the slit, and slides his mouth back down.

Jon threads his fingers through Spencer’s hair and watches him, even though his eyes keep wanting to close. He watches the way Spencer’s cheeks hollow out, how every once in a while he’ll manage to look up to make eye contact. His fingers drift to Jon’s balls, and Jon bites down on his lip. Oh my god.

He tugs on Spencer’s hair, trying to warn him, but Spencer doesn’t stop. When Jon comes, Spencer swallows until he’s finished, licks up the last few drops with his tongue.

“Come here,” Jon says, and Spencer lies next to him, his head flopping back against the pillow. “That was amazing.”

Spencer makes a noise in agreement. “You know, it’s a good thing we don’t have neighbors on either side of us.”

“I don’t think we were that loud.”

“Oh, I think we were.” Spencer rolls onto his side. He traces a finger along Jon’s jaw, through his beard.

“You know, the thing is, I don’t really care.”

Spencer grins at that. “I don’t, either.”

*

Along the way to Utah, they pull off to a scenic overlook so Jon can get out his camera and take some pictures. Spencer isn’t always the most enthusiastic photo subject, so Jon doesn’t ask to photograph him. He does get a few shots of Spencer from behind, though, looking out at the mountains.

Some of the images from this trip, though, are ones he’ll never have on his camera. Things like the soft smile Spencer gives him sometimes, or the way he looks right before he comes. Spencer’s hand intertwined with his, the way the sky looked last night when they were out on the balcony right before they kissed. Things like that he’ll just have to keep to himself and try to remember.

*

In Las Vegas, they wind down the windows and blast Blink 182 on the stereo because, as Spencer says, “This place will always make me feel like I’m fifteen.”

“When I was fifteen, I used to get rides with my friends who had their learner’s permits – even though it was totally illegal for them to drive without an adult in the car – and we’d ride through Hanover Park listening to Blink’s first album.”

“Ah, the one with ‘Dammit’ on it.”

“Yeah, and then we’d go to Woodfield Mall because we thought that was the coolest place to be on a Friday night.”

“Did you sit in the food court for hours?”

“Yes.”

“We did, too! We’d buy one order of fries so they couldn’t kick us out, and we’d sit there from like seven o’clock until the mall closed.”

“Yeah, we did the same thing. And we would go around trying to tell people we were in a band and to check out, like, our Geocities website.”

Spencer laughs. “We had a MySpace. We made fliers for it.”

As they drive, Spencer points out stuff to Jon, like, “That’s the building where I lived when I first moved out” or “That’s the shop where Brendon used to work” or “Ryan and I used to hang out at that mall.” He drives them into suburbia, into the desert, past the casinos and high-rises and glitzy shopping developments, into the subdivision where he grew up.

Ginger, his mom, is waiting for them. She greets them with big hugs and ushers them inside the house.

“How has everything been so far on the road?” she asks.

“Tiring,” Spencer says, “but good.”

“It’s a long trip. But I’m glad you’re together; that’s a long journey for one person.”

Spencer shares a quick look with Jon, one that manages to express happiness and gratitude that he’s here, that he decided to come along.

Ginger feeds them tons of food – pasta, chicken, bread, vegetables, and chocolate cake for dessert – and it’s the best Jon has eaten in a long time. They don’t talk much because they’re too busy eating. After days of meals in diners and at McDonald’s and grabbing bagels on the road (one day, Jon had a bagel for breakfast, lunch, and dinner), it’s the best meal he’s ever had.

*

They sleep in Spencer’s old bedroom that night, and Jon doesn’t know what it says about them that Ginger takes it as a given that Jon isn’t staying in a separate room. For some reason, they can’t fall asleep right away, so they just lie there in the dark, talking. They keep their voices low, careful not to wake anyone.

“I think I’m the kind of tired where I’m so tired, I can’t sleep,” Jon says.

“You’re too wired.”

“Yeah, probably.” Jon stares up at the ceiling, at the shadows created by the blinds. He and Spencer are lying shoulder-to-shoulder in the bed, a sharp contrast from the night before when they were curled up next to each other.

(A lot of this has to do with what Spencer said when they walked in the room: “I’m not having sex in my parents’ house.”

Jon totally understands. He wouldn’t want to have sex in anyone’s parents’ house.)

“I’ve been meaning to ask you, how soon do you have to go back to Chicago?” Spencer says.

“I don’t have to go back right away, if that’s what you mean. I kind of make my own schedule.”

“So.” Spencer rolls onto his side and faces Jon. “Would you want to stay with me for a couple more days?”

Jon shifts so he can look at Spencer. “That would be awesome.”

Spencer smiles and gives him a quick kiss. “I have another question, too.”

“Yeah?”

“I was wondering,” Spencer says, taking a deep breath, “if you’d maybe consider jamming with us.”

“Spencer, I don’t know –“

“Wait, just listen to me. We miss you, okay? And this isn’t you having to say yes to being back in the band or committing to anything. It’s just playing together for fun. That’s all.”

“Can I think about it?”

“Of course, yeah.”

“I’ll tell you in the morning.”

“That sounds good.” Spencer yawns and pulls a blanket up around them.

Spencer starts to drift off, and Jon lies there thinking about his question, trying to make a mental pros and cons list. There aren’t a whole lot of cons. So much has changed since they went their separate ways that it would probably be different now. And it’s not like by agreeing to jam with them he’s saying he’s back in the band. It wouldn’t hurt, for a few hours. If anything, it’ll show him if he’s been missing out on anything and if he should be a part of it again.

*

The closer they get to Los Angeles, the more the landscape changes, but Jon sleeps through most of it. He didn’t get to sleep until late last night, his mind too occupied with thinking about what will happen once they’re in California.

Spencer stays quiet, doesn’t press him for an answer. He keeps the music turned down low and lets Jon rest, even lets Jon use his sunglasses so he can sleep without the sun hitting him right in the face.

By the time Jon wakes up, they’re an hour outside L.A. and stopping for lunch. The car coming to a stop jerks him awake, and he’s startled, coming out of the sleep-haze and realizing he’s in the car. He stretches and slides Spencer’s sunglasses up into his hair.

“Did you sleep okay?” Spencer asks.

“I did. As well as I can sleep in a car.” He puts the sunglasses back on his face. “I had a dream that I was fighting crime with Mary.”

“Oh, god.”

“It was awesome, and you wish you were having awesome Mary dreams.”

“I do not, because in my dreams she would probably be trying to make a citizen’s arrest on me and driving me to the police station handcuffed in the backseat of her tow truck.”

“Are citizen’s arrests an actual thing?”

“I’ve seen a lot of cop shows, Jon. And I bet Mary has made some citizen’s arrest, like during her time in a vicious motorcycle gang.”

“We don’t know if they were vicious.”

“Most motorcycle gangs are. They’re gangs.”

“Anyway, Mary and I were fighting crime, except we were in Chicago, not Omaha.”

“Were you wearing superhero outfits?”

Jon sighs. “Unfortunately, no. That would have made the dream better.”

Spencer shakes his head. “Come on, superhero. We should go eat.”

*

Jon hasn’t been to California in so long, he forgot how much he liked spending time here. He doesn’t care much for the city of Los Angeles itself, but Spencer lives in a nice, quiet neighborhood with a lot of trees and green everywhere.

He pulls into the driveway at his house and announces, “We made it.”

“We did?”

“Yes, this is not some random person’s house. It’s my house.”

“I was more expressing disbelief that we’re here, nerd,” Jon says.

Spencer puts the car in park and turns off the ignition. He gets out and even does a dorky little dance in the driveway.

“See, I called you a nerd for a good reason.” Jon walks around the car and crosses his arms over his chest.

Spencer pops open the trunk and starts taking out their bags. “I’ll wear it as a badge of honor.”

“A nerd badge.”

“I’m picturing it in red. And it kind of looks like a sheriff’s badge.”

“That’s exactly what it would look like.”

Jon walks over and grabs his duffel bag, swinging it over his shoulder. “I’ll have to make one for you sometime.”

Spencer rolls his eyes and leads the way to the front door. Inside, his house is bright and open, with lots of light filtering through the windows. There’s a big sectional couch and a flat-screen TV in the living room, a small dining room, a kitchen with a bunch of fancy appliances that look like they’ve never, or rarely, been used. Spencer leads him into the bedroom, where there’s a big, comfortable-looking bed with a lot of pillows, and sets his suitcase by the door.

“You can put your stuff wherever,” Spencer says, and Jon drops his bag by the door, too.

He follows Spencer out into the kitchen, and Spencer opens his fridge and hands Jon a beer. Just from a quick glance inside, it looks like all Spencer has is beer.

“Have you thought about what I asked you last night?” Spencer asks. He’s leading them through the kitchen, to a smaller room off of it that has the washer and dryer, to a deck outside.

“I did.”

“I wanted to wait for you to tell me, but you didn’t, so I figured I’d ask.”

They sit down on some chairs that look out into the backyard. Jon leans back, tilting his face up toward the sky, taking in the sun and the warm air and the clouds. He turns back to Spencer.

“I think it would be fun. Like you said, it’s just hanging out and jamming, so. There’s no harm in that.”

“Look, I know you’re reluctant because of what happened before, but seriously? If Ryan and Brendon can work things out, shit has changed.”

“They’re not fighting?”

Spencer shakes his head. “There’s actual collaboration and stuff going on. And compromise.”

“I never imagined six years ago I’d ever hear ‘collaboration’ and ‘compromise’ in the same sentence as their names.”

“I know, right?” Spencer laughs.

“I just – if we’re jamming, I don’t know if I want to play the old stuff.”

He should be over it, but Jon actually can’t hear songs like “Northern Downpour” or “Nine in the Afternoon” without getting sad and romanticizing that whole era. Having to play those songs would probably make him not enjoy seeing the guys again as much.

“No, I get that. We don’t play a lot of the old stuff anymore, either. I mean, yeah, there are some songs we do on tour, but if we’re just hanging out, we’re working on new stuff or doing covers.”

Jon relaxes with the idea some more, lets it settle over him. “I think I’d like that.”
“I’ll text them and ask if tomorrow is okay?” Spencer reaches for his phone, but he glances up at Jon first, checking to make sure.

“Tomorrow is good.”

Spencer sends the text, and a few seconds later gets one back. “It says, ‘Yay’ with“ – he pauses to count – “eighteen a’s and twelve exclamation points. From Brendon, obviously.” He holds the phone in front of Jon’s face, and indeed most of the text is a bunch of a’s and exclamation points.

“We really do miss you,” Spencer adds quietly.

“I miss you guys, too. I just keep thinking, being with you these past few days, how stupid everything was then.”

“We were really, really young,” Spencer says. “I don’t think we knew what we were doing. Because sure, bands break up all the time, but I think if we had just taken a break from each other we could have worked things out.”

“We never had much of a break from each other. That could have been part of the problem.”

“We never went more than a couple of months without working. And I hate to hash out the past, you know? I’ve talked about it so many times, but sometimes I can’t stop talking about it because I still feel like I’m working through it. Especially now that we’re sort of back together again and making music. It’s always going to be the thing people talk about in interviews, ‘So, how does it feel to be together again?’, like Brendon and I weren’t making music on our own for however many years. The interviewers know that, but they just want to talk about the reunion.”

“I always hated interviews,” Jon says.

“I know. I did, too. I still do. Once in a while you’ll get a cool person, but most of them haven’t even listened to us and don’t give a shit. They still think we’re the kids with the makeup and the costumes. It’s frustrating.”

“I’d get frustrated, too, if I were still being compared to everything I did when I was seventeen or eighteen years old.”

“Obviously I have a lot of feelings about this.”

“I know it’s hard to ignore that shit, but sometimes it’s what you have to do. Or you have to be one of those musicians who people think acts like a dick in interviews because they challenge the interviewer, or say, ‘I don’t want to talk about that.’”

“It’s one of the very few things I don’t enjoy about being in a band.”

Jon reaches over and gives Spencer’s shoulder a comforting rub. “Just tune out the bullshit. Because what you guys are doing right now is great.”

Spencer’s face softens. “Thanks.”

“I really mean it.”

“I know.” Spencer takes Jon’s hand across the space between their chairs.

They sit like that for a while, and they don’t have to say much more.

*

Jon doesn’t know what to expect having the four of them together again. He let it play out in his mind last night, how it would feel and what it would sound like, but he’s still not prepared.

They practice in an industrial, warehouse-looking building, but inside the room it’s all high ceilings and big windows, crazy-colored rugs on the hardwood floor, and guitars everywhere.

When they first walk in, Brendon is sitting with his back facing the door and Ryan across from him, so Ryan sees them first.

“Hey! You guys made it!” Ryan says, and he sets down his guitar and walks over, enveloping first Jon, and then Spencer, in hugs.

Brendon leaps up from his chair. He’s still wiry and full of energy, and his short hair is sticking up all over the place like he just rolled out of bed. He pushes his glasses up his nose, grins, and says, “Jon, it’s like you’re alive again.”

Jon starts laughing, and Brendon hugs him, wrapping his arms around Jon’s entire body and holding him close for longer than he really needs to.

“I’m happy you’re here.” Brendon steps away, but he holds onto Jon’s forearms and stays there, beaming at him.

It doesn’t seem like he was gone that long. When you split up, when you choose sides and go your separate ways, it’s easy to forget the good times. It’s easier to be kind of bitter about the whole thing and say crap in interviews (like Jon did, at first) and forget that when it comes down to it, these people are your friends. They were his best friends for three years of his life. Three years doesn’t sound like a long time, but Jon spent nearly every day with them, sharing music and jokes and the kinds of experiences you can only have when you’re cooped up in a bus or a studio with three other dudes.

Brendon goes over to his microphone and says into it, in a super serious voice, “Okay, let’s pump out the jams.”

Spencer sits down at his drum kit and picks up the sticks, hitting the kickdrum a couple of times to test it out. Ryan sits on the floor with a guitar in his lap and starts to play a few random notes, nothing that Jon recognizes. It seems like he’s improvising something.

Jon finds a bass among all the other instruments in the room. He picks up it up and puts the strap over his head. He positions his fingers over the strings and looks over at Spencer to count them off.