Adventures in Solitude: Gift for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
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Dec. 24th, 2010 03:00 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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bandomstuffsitClick here for part one, headers, and warnings
When he woke up, Gerard Way was sitting in the corner of his office, smoking a cigarette and doodling on Spencer's notepad.
"Gerard Way," Spencer said, blinking away sleep.
"Hi," Gerard said. "I'm the ghost of Christmas Present, and I'm here to take you on a trip."
"You were the ghost of Christmas Past a minute ago," Spencer said, rubbing his eyes.
"Yeah," Gerard said. "It turns out you don't actually idolize all that many people, Spencer Smith. You should add it to your list of things to work on. The only other person on your list was Harry Potter, and we figured that having Harry Potter show up would be kind of weird, even for us. Plus, you know, which one? Book-version or movie-version?"
"Uh," Spencer said. He sat up, rolling his shoulders to get rid of the stiffness. He reached for his phone, but stopped halfway, realizing that he couldn't exactly call Ryan to find out where he was spending Christmas, or Brendon to apologize for earlier when he had Gerard Way in his office, being a ghost of Christmas. Maybe he was crazy. "Am I crazy?" he asked.
"Being crazy doesn't make you any less special of a person," Gerard told him. Being reprimanded by a ghost was kind of odd. "But no, you're not seeing things that aren't there. Stop worrying."
"You're a ghost," Spencer pointed out.
"And I drew you a picture," Gerard said, dropping the notepad and sharpie down on Spencer's desk. It was two doodles, one below the other on the paper. The first one was Spencer watching Brendon with stars in his eyes, the other was Brendon and him, holding hands on the top of a hill, the sky full of stars. Spencer couldn't help the way his heart leapt at the second one.
"Thanks," Spencer said, gruffly. His mouth was dry. "They're amazing."
"Awesome," Gerard said. "You should work on your creative outlets, too. You could be a pretty great drummer if you gave yourself a chance."
"I haven't played since I was a kid," Spencer said, dismissively.
"Good time to take it back up again, then," Gerard said. "Are you ready? We've got things to see."
"As I'll ever be," Spencer said, standing up. He waited for the walls to start to fade, but nothing happened.
"Take my hand," Gerard said, and Spencer could count on one hand the number of times he'd held hands with a guy in the last few years. He slipped his hand into Gerard's, kind of awkwardly, and Gerard squeezed. "Hold on," he said, and the room flicked into darkness as the wind started to whoosh around them. Then the lights flicked back on, and they were back in a living room, and there was this year's calendar on the wall, and this was Spencer's apartment.
"This is my place again," Spencer said.
"Sure it is," Gerard said, pointing at the door. "It's time to trim your tree."
Spencer could hear him and Brendon before he could see them. This day was like, a week ago, and Brendon had made Spencer walk three blocks to pick out a stupid Christmas tree and then walk three blocks back carrying the Christmas tree. Spencer had complained all of the way there and all of the way back and all of the way up the steps to his apartment.
"Shut up," Brendon said, outside of the door to the living room. "You love our Christmas tree, don't even front."
"I do not love it," the other Spencer complained, as Brendon fumbled with the door and burst into the living room. "I don't love how heavy it is, and how I have got pine needles down my neck and how we had to carry this thing a million miles."
"Three blocks," Brendon said, peaceably. "Stop complaining and stand it up straight. I'm going to get the trimmings."
"I don't love this thing at all," the other Spencer said, under his breath, looking for all the world like this was a total lie. Spencer wondered if what he was feeling was always written so clearly on his face. He'd thought he was good at hiding, but maybe he was wrong, because it didn't look at all like he hated trimming the tree with Brendon. No wonder Brendon never gave up bugging him to hang out with him. Whatever Spencer thought was written on his face, it wasn't the naked want that was all Spencer could see right now. He watched as Brendon stopped in the doorway, watching the other Spencer struggle to get the tree straight with an indulgent grin on his face.
"It's crooked," Brendon called out, dumping the box of decorations on the couch. "Get your ruler out, Spence."
"Fuck you," the other Spencer said, giving Brendon the finger. "It so is straight."
"Sure it is," Brendon said, dropping to his knees next to Spencer. His elbow bumped Spencer's, and both he and Spencer blushed a little and looked very fixedly at the tree for a moment until their blushes had faded.
Spencer didn't remember that. He just remembered being aware of how close Brendon was to him, and how important it suddenly was to concentrate on trimming the tree. It had taken them the whole morning to trim the tree, Brendon trying to attach decorations without any thought about the symmetry or where the lights were going to go. But that wasn't how it looked right now, the two of them sneaking glances at each other when they thought the other wasn't looking. Spencer remembered trying to keep an eye on where Brendon was putting the decorations, but the other Spencer wasn't looking at Brendon's hands. He was watching his face, and when he was leaning over the decorations box, Brendon was watching him.
It made Spencer breathless just watching, and his stomach flipped every time he saw the way Brendon looked at him. All of a sudden he wanted more than anything to close the distance between the two of them and kiss Brendon, over and over and over. It just felt like he was finally putting a name to that feeling that was trapped in his chest every single time he looked at Brendon. It wasn't annoyance, or frustration, or even friendship or closeness or any of the other names that Spencer had tried throwing at the way he felt over the past couple of years. It was this, it was wanting to kiss Brendon and have him kiss back. It was everything, and Spencer couldn't breathe.
"Careful," Gerard said, as Spencer took an involuntary step forward. He curled his hand around Spencer's arm, holding him back. "They can't see you. He can't see you."
"I want—" Spencer started, but he didn't know what he wanted. He wanted to be out of this stupid dream or whatever the fuck it was and he wanted to be back in a place where he could talk to Brendon and figure out what the fuck he wanted, what that feeling was in his chest, have Brendon in front of him so that he could know for sure.
But Gerard just slipped his hand into Spencer's, and the room went dark, and the wind rose around them, cocooning them close. Then the lights flicked back on and the wind disappeared, and Spencer didn't recognize where they were at all.
"Where are we?" he asked, sneaking his hand out of Gerard's sweaty one so he could wander over to the bookshelves by the bed and take a look at what was on the shelves. Anything so that he could get his breath back and wait for the flush on his cheeks to die away.
"Chicago," Gerard said. "Ryan's apartment, to be exact."
"I don't recognize this place," Spencer said, which was kind of a stupid thing to say, since he hadn't visited Ryan in over a year.
"Sure you don't," Gerard said, earnestly. "You'll barely recognize Ryan, either. You've got to start keeping up, Spencer. Friendships need work."
"He's my best friend," Spencer said, even though that wasn't exactly the truth, either. That's what they had been, before. Spencer tried to ignore the sick, empty feeling in his stomach at the realization.
"It's not too late," Gerard said, tugging at his sleeve. "Come on. Through here."
They were in Ryan's living room, and Ryan was sprawled across the couch, the phone pressed to his ear. Next to him, a guy Spencer recognized from when he used to visit Chicago was dozing, head on Ryan's shoulder. Jon. He hadn't had a beard last time Spencer had seen him.
"You're always busy," Ryan was saying, into the phone. "It's Christmas Eve, don't you close up early, anyway?"
With a sick jolt, Spencer realized that Ryan was talking to him, and that this was today. There was a bong on the coffee table, and an empty baggie where the weed used to be next to it.
"Go home," Ryan said, taking something out of his pocket. A small velvet bag. "Go hang out with your roommate and watch Christmas movies."
Spencer couldn't take his eyes off the bag. As he watched, Ryan undid the drawstring and pulled out a tiny black box. The kind of box that held a ring, Spencer realized, and his eyes widened as Ryan flicked it open. A shiny silver band with a glittering jewel. An engagement ring.
He tuned back in to what Ryan was saying. "Yeah, okay. So, you remember that—" Ryan was beaming, and he was fingering the ring, taking it out of the case and turning it over and over in his hand. And then his smile fell, and Spencer knew why. He felt sick. "I guess," Ryan said, sadly, and when he hung up and dropped the phone back on the couch next to him, Spencer wanted to rewind this whole day and have the conversation again.
He watched as Ryan shook Jon awake, and held out the ring.
"Is that for me?" Jon asked, gruffly, rubbing his eyes and staring down at Ryan's hand. "Because you really shouldn't have."
"Fuck you," Ryan said, pushing at Jon's shoulder with his palm. "It's for Z. I'm going to ask her to marry me."
Jon's face curved into a wide, bright smile. "Dude," he said. "Dude."
"I know, right?" Ryan said, delightedly.
Jon laughed. "Congratulations," he said.
"She hasn't said yes, yet," Ryan reminded him.
Jon grinned, and as Spencer watched, misery clawing at his gut, Gerard tucked his hand into Spencer's.
"Come on," Gerard said, and the room flicked into darkness and the wind began to roar.
This time, when the lights flicked back on, they were in a coffee shop. Starbucks.
"What are we doing here?" Spencer asked, to cover up how miserable he felt at what he'd missed Ryan telling him.
"Catching up with Brendon," Gerard said, letting go of Spencer's hand and slipping behind the counter. "Do you want a toffee nut, peppermint or gingerbread latte?"
"Gingerbread," Spencer said, distractedly. He scanned the tables, and then the line. Brendon was near the front, eyes trained on the glass-fronted cabinets with all of the cakes and muffins and cookies on display. His heart jumped and Spencer wondered why he'd tried to deny how he felt about Brendon for so long. He'd dismissed him as just a roommate, not even a friend, and he felt terrible. He wanted so much more. He couldn't help it, he snuck a little closer, peering over Brendon's shoulder to stare at the shelves of cakes and cookies, breathing in the familiar scent of Brendon's shower gel and aftershave. He wanted to touch Brendon so much.
"Come over here," Gerard said, tugging on Spencer's sleeve.
Spencer didn't want to move, but Gerard's grip was strong.
"Here," Gerard said, handing him a takeaway red cup. Spencer's stomach dropped at the memory of Brendon dropping the coffee into the trash can, earlier. Suddenly he realized what they were doing here, what Brendon was doing here, and Spencer wanted to fix this more than anything.
But he couldn't, so Spencer had to stand and watch as Brendon ordered two coffees and a selection of cookies. The barista put them into a bag for him, and Brendon moved down the line to the waiting area at the end of the coffee machines. When his coffee was ready, Brendon leaned over and asked the barista if he could borrow his sharpie. Blushing a fiery red, Brendon leaned over one of the coffee cups and wrote, MAKE OUT WITH ME, SPENCER SMITH, in thick black sharpie.
"There," Brendon said, in a determined voice, showing the barista. "Can't lose my nerve this time, right?"
"This time?" the barista asked, one eyebrow raised.
"You have no idea," Brendon said. "But this time I am determined to actually ask him. No more chickening out at the last minute."
The barista grinned. "Good luck," he said.
"Yeah," Brendon said, chewing on his lip. "Yeah."
"Oh god," Spencer managed. He was going to be sick. He kept seeing Brendon dropping the cup into the trash, over and over and over and over. "I screwed this up so fucking badly."
Gerard looked at him, sympathetically. "You really, really did," he said.
Spencer shook his head. "I don't want to see anymore," he begged. "Please, just take me back. I want to go home. "
"You sure?" Gerard asked, after a moment.
"More than anything," Spencer said. "Please."
"Okay, then," Gerard said, and this time, when the wind whirled around them and the lights flicked out, they didn't turn back on again.
~*~
He woke up to someone shaking his shoulder. "Spencer, Spence."
"What," Spencer said, shaking himself awake. For a split second he allowed himself to believe that it had all been a dream, but it wasn't, and it hadn't been, because Pete Wentz was standing over him, clutching a handful of photographs.
"Time to wake up, Sleepy-head," Pete said.
"Oh god, not more ghosts," Spencer begged. "Please, just let me go home. I've got shit to fix, please."
"Just me left," Pete said, brightly. "Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come."
"I really, really don't want to see," Spencer said, firmly. "Take me home."
"This is the way home," Pete told him. "It's the only way home." He pushed a coffee cup across the table to Spencer. "Gerard left this for you."
Spencer took a long gulp and then put it down heavily on the table top. "Okay, then, I'm ready. If this is the only way back then I'm ready."
"Awesome stuff," Pete said, and tugged a chair closer. "Sit down, we're not going anywhere."
"We're not?" Spencer asked in surprise.
"We're not," Pete confirmed. "We're just going to have a little slideshow. Put your feet up." He waved at Spencer's desk, and Spencer bent down to undo his shoelaces. He didn't believe in shoes on the desk, at least not at work. At home, he let Brendon put his feet up on the coffee table sometimes because Brendon had a way of getting around Spencer when Spencer least expected it. Just the thought of Brendon made his heart sink, and from Brendon, it was an easy leap to Ryan. Spencer swallowed, and fumbled with his shoelaces. He felt—ashamed.
Pete laughed, incongruously loud in the quiet of the bright office, and Spencer sat up to toe off his shoes. A large projection screen covered one wall of his office; it hadn't been there a minute ago. The pictures Pete had been holding in his hand had disappeared, and instead, he was holding a remote control.
"Are we all sitting comfortably?" Pete asked, waving the remote around. "Grab your coffee, dude." He pressed a button and the whole wall was suddenly filled with a giant picture of a wedding. Ryan was standing in the middle of the shot, Z's hand tucked into Ryan's arm. Next to Z were her three bridesmaids, all in sixties mini-dresses. Next to Ryan were three guys in suits, and Spencer wasn't one of them.
Spencer's stomach dropped.
"You weren't a groomsman," Pete told him, as if Spencer couldn't figure that out on his own. "Great day, though, there was a synchronized dance routine."
"Did I—" Spencer didn't know what to say. "Did I go?"
"Well, the question isn't did you, not really," Pete mused. "It's do you. Do you go? It's up to you."
Spencer frowned, and Pete leaned over and bumped his elbow into Spencer's, a sad sort-of smile on his face.
"The future isn't written yet," Pete said, softly. "It's exactly what you make of it." He leaned his cheek against Spencer's shoulder. After a moment, he pressed a button on the remote so that the picture changed, this time to one of Spencer's parents and his sisters and two guys Spencer didn't recognize, all sitting around the table in Spencer's parents' dining room, charging their glasses. His dad's hair was a little more silver than Spencer remembered, and his sisters looked older. Jackie was wearing a wedding ring.
"Where am I?" Spencer asked, even though he knew the answer. His stomach clenched. "I'm not there."
Pete shrugged. "Working your way through The Simpsons on DVD and doing the figures for the new Hewson contract. You call your mom later."
"That's pretty specific," Spencer said, tightly. His throat felt hoarse.
"It's a pretty specific picture," Pete said. He sat back, and watched Spencer for a long moment.
"Sure," Spencer said, but he wasn't listening, because the picture had changed again, and this time Spencer knew exactly what he was looking at. Brendon's empty bedroom in Spencer's apartment. The bed was bare, the closet empty, and there was a soft layer of dust on the windowsill. He didn't want to ask, but he couldn't not. "Where's Brendon?"
"Celebrating Christmas with a guy named Tony," Pete said, without looking away from the picture on the wall. "He's English. He makes Brendon laugh; he thinks the accent's a turn on. Brendon makes him breakfast in bed."
Spencer nodded. The gnawing, hollow feeling in his stomach was only getting worse. The thought of Brendon with anyone else made him feel jealous and fearful in a way he'd never felt before. The thought of his apartment without Brendon in it made him feel even worse. How had he not known how important coming home to someone was? How much he appreciated living with Brendon? He'd spent so long trying to hide Brendon away, even from himself, that the realization of how much he'd come to mean to Spencer was much more of a shock than he'd thought it was going to be. His head was swimming.
"It doesn't have to happen, though, right? You get that."
"Huh?" Spencer said, without listening. He was replaying the sound of Brendon's coffee cup hitting the trash can for the hundredth time.
"Spence. This isn't set in stone."
"You're the ghost of Christmas yet to come," Spencer pointed out. "You showed me pictures. That's kind of, you know, the future." A lonely future, Spencer realized, thinking about Ryan, and Brendon's empty bedroom, and the family Christmas celebrations he wasn't a part of. He didn't want that.
"Dude, there's a precedent," Pete said. "I'm not going to rename myself 'the ghost of Christmases that might happen if you don't pull your finger out' just to satisfy your persnickety-ness."
"Not a word," Spencer said, still staring at the picture superimposed on his office wall.
"You're being even more persnickety now," Pete said, rolling his eyes. "Are you always this much of a dumbass?"
Spencer blinked. "I don't want this," he said, softly, looking down at his lap. "I don't want any of this. I just want to go home and fix it all."
Pete didn't say anything for a moment. "It's not set in stone, Spencer Smith," he said, and Spencer nodded. He didn't believe it, not really. It was too late. "It's what might be," Pete said. "It's how it could be."
"You're the Ghost of Christmas yet to come," Spencer repeated. "It seems pretty specific."
"If you don't change anything," Pete said, softly. "You want to end up like me? A ghost?"
"You're Pete Wentz," Spencer said.
"Sort of. Mostly not," Pete said. "You've got to get yourself some more heroes, dude. This whole Ghost of Christmas schtick works better when we don't have to turn up twice and pretend we haven't been here before."
"I will," Spencer said. He actually meant it, too. He was going to change. He was going to do better. He was going to be better. He just needed to get home so he could start fixing stuff. He figured that it would hurt less if he was just there, and not here.
"And, okay, this is a tip for you:" Pete nodded his head, "dude, when you get back, don't go out and buy the biggest turkey you can find. It's fucking Christmas, no one's going to want to spend the whole fucking day jamming it in the oven. And then you're going to have to have everyone over, and people already have plans—"
"What the fuck," Spencer said, because just for a second his ghost sounded like a crazy person.
"Just some friendly ghostly advice," Pete said. "It's not like I haven't done this before. This is the first time I've been Pete Wentz, though. You think I can play the guitar, too?"
"I think you should take me home," Spencer said, decisively. Whether or not his ghost could play the guitar was kind of a pointless line of thought.
Pete watched him for a moment. "Did you learn anything?"
"—Not to buy a turkey for everyone to share?"
"Was it worthwhile, though?" Pete asked. "Because sometimes it isn't." He looked suddenly really fucking old. "Sometimes it's just kind of pointless. Everything stays the same. They stay the same."
"I'm not the same," Spencer said, because he wasn't. He said it again, louder this time. "I'm not."
"Good," Pete said, so quietly Spencer could barely hear him.
"Do I have to tell you again about when it's appropriate to use our indoor voices?" Marie asked, from the doorway. "You don't have to shout, the intercom is right there."
Spencer spun around in his chair. Marie was standing in the open door of Spencer's office, her arms folded, and above her a sprig of mistletoe hung from the doorframe.
"Marie," Spencer said, in sheer relief. Pete. He twisted around, looking for Pete, but the projection screen had gone, and so had the pictures of Spencer's future, and so had Pete. The office was empty, apart from Spencer, and now Marie standing in the doorway.
"What," Marie said, raising an eyebrow, "you couldn't remember how to push the button? Do we need to have another training session?"
"What day is it?" Spencer interrupted, pushing the papers on his desk to one side. The digital clock on his desk read 10:15 in bright red letters, but his desk calendar was missing.
Marie rolled her eyes. "Christmas Eve," she said. "And I know what you said about it being just another working day, and no holiday decorations, but it is the day before Christmas. You've got to give people some leeway, especially if you're going to make us work right up until the building closes. You haven't changed your mind about an extra half a day's leave, have you? All of the other departments—"
Spencer couldn't help the way his heart leapt in his chest. Christmas Eve. He got to do it all again. "We're a couple of days ahead on this project, right?" he asked, eyeing the sprig of mistletoe that had somehow found its way on to his desk, and not listening to Marie. When he moved it out of the way, he found himself face to face with Gerard's drawings of him and Brendon. It really happened, he thought, and when he opened his mouth to speak, his voice shook. "Tell everyone they can finish up at lunchtime," he said, not waiting for Marie to check their progress against the schedule. "And get me Ryan Ross on the phone."
Marie's brow furrowed. "What?" she said, carefully.
"Everyone can go home at lunch," Spencer said. His heart thumped in his chest. He was already fumbling in his pocket for his cell phone, switching it on so he could call Ryan and actually ask him how he was spending Christmas. "Tell them they can take an extra half day after the holiday, too, and once this project's done we'll close the office for a long weekend. And don't call Ryan, I'll do it."
"Are you feeling okay?" Marie asked, carefully. "You want me to wave a red cup in front of you? Remind you why you hate the holiday season?"
"Oh, coffee," Spencer said, with a sigh of relief. He still had time. "Can you call Brendon and see if he can come by? No, screw that, I'll call him. Call that bakery on the corner and see if they have any Christmas cookies or pastries left they can bring up. Or that we can go and pick up. I don't know. I think we need cake. You want cake, right?"
Marie blinked. "Yes," she said, carefully. "Do you want me to get you some Tylenol, or anything?"
"Coffee," Spencer said, standing up and pacing his office. "I have a lot to do. Do you have my parents' number out there?" His fingers shook as he scrolled through his numbers in his phone until he got to Ryan's. "Actually, never mind, I'll call them myself. Just see about the bakery. And emailing everyone about going home. And if Brendon calls while I'm on with Ryan, tell him to come on over, I want to see him. I've got to tell him something. I've got to tell everybody something."
"—Brendon, your roommate?" Marie asked, raising her eyebrows. "But you never take his calls."
"Yes," Spencer said, nodding quickly, "because I'm a dick who doesn't recognize a good thing when I've got it. You think I can stop him from leaving me?"
"From leaving you," Marie repeated, her eyebrows so high they were hidden under her thick, dark bangs. "As in..."
"As in, I'd really kind of like to actually date him," Spencer went on, pressing his thumb over Ryan's name in his phonebook. "Like, outside of my apartment. Our apartment. And inside of our apartment too, thinking about it. You'll get the cake?"
"Uh," Marie said. "Yes?"
"Excellent," Spencer said, chewing on his lip and holding his phone to his ear. He had a lot to get through today if he was going to fix everything before Brendon showed up. The call connected and Spencer let out a breath. "Ry?"
"Spencer," Ryan said, a little hazily. "I was going to call you later. Aren't you at work?"
"Yeah," Spencer said, suddenly so thankful that he was actually talking to Ryan that he sat down heavily in his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose. "But I haven't talked to you in a while, and I figured work could wait."
"That's a first," Ryan said. He coughed, inhaling loudly.
"First of many," Spencer said, and for the first time in a long time he recognized that feeling in his chest, the one he'd tried to ignore for so long that he'd almost forgotten it was there, he was so used to the way it felt. I miss you. "I thought I might come up and see you after New Year's," he said, quickly, before he could think about it too much and it all got too difficult to say. "I miss you."
"Dude," Ryan said, and his voice sounded rough, but when he laughed, something eased in Spencer's chest. "I've been asking you forever."
"My bad," Spencer said. "Seriously. I'm a shit. Are you with Jon?"
"He's asleep," Ryan said, sounding warm and affectionate. "We went to this awesome party last night. You should have been there."
"Next time," Spencer said, confidently, even though the kind of parties that Ryan went to weren't exactly Spencer's idea of a great night. "You should tell him I said hi, though. And to save some of the good stuff for when I get up there."
"Yeah, this stuff is the shit," Ryan said, exhaling loudly. "Probably a fucking Christmas blend or something, knowing Jon. Hey. Look, I was going to call and tell you later, but, uh."
Spencer remembered the tiny velvet bag he'd seen Ryan pull out of his pocket, and the way Ryan's eyes had shone as he'd taken out the ring. "Yeah?" he said, a little breathlessly.
"I'm going to ask Z to marry me," Ryan said, quickly. "And before you say it, we're not too young, fuck. We've been together for ages -"
"I'm really fucking happy for you," Spencer said, before Ryan could say anything else.
Ryan let out a long breath. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," Spencer said. "So, when are you going to ask her?"
"Christmas morning," Ryan said, and Spencer let out a breath. He was going to be at that wedding. Things were going to change, he could feel it.
~*~
He was still talking to Ryan when Marie stuck her head around the door and said, "Brendon's just called. He's coming over, like you said."
Spencer's mouth went suddenly dry. "Brendon's coming over," he told Ryan.
"Great," Ryan said. "Have you figured out what you want to say yet?"
"No," Spencer said. "Oh fuck, I have to go figure out what I'm going to say. Is it too late to make flashcards?"
Ryan laughed. "Pretty much," he said. "Look, okay. I'm glad you called, okay? I was beginning to forget what you sounded like."
"Yeah," Spencer said, his attention momentarily shifting from Brendon back to Ryan. "Yeah. Ryan—I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry. I got so caught up—"
"We'll talk about it later," Ryan said. "I've got to go to bed, anyway. It's really fucking late."
Spencer rolled his eyes. "Some of us have been up since six am."
"Some of us need to get a life," Ryan said. "Look, go win your guy, okay? I'm pretty sure he's open to being won. Or whatever."
"How do you even know?" Spencer asked, in disbelief.
"I do have friends that aren't you, you know," Ryan said. "Brent told me. He actually calls me. Unlike some people."
Spencer couldn't avoid how guilty that made him feel. "Sorry," he said. "I got caught up."
"Yeah, yeah," Ryan said. "I'll call you tomorrow. Say happy holidays and all that."
"See you," Spencer said, softly, and Ryan disconnected the call. Spencer looked down at his phone for a moment, the sad, tight feeling in his chest dissipating, just for a moment.
"I've sent David down to the bakery," Marie said, coming in with a stack of colored paper and a marker pen. "You didn't need the petty cash for anything other than cake, right?"
Spencer blinked. "There had better be receipts," he said, very definitely not thinking about his carefully balanced accounts.
"I have told him, under pain of death, that he'd better come back with a receipt," Marie agreed, dumping the marker and the papers on Spencer's desk. "Now, okay, I'm not saying you have to do it, but Love Actually is my favorite Christmas movie."
Spencer stared down at the papers. "And you want me to, what? Recreate it with stick figures? Because I can't actually draw."
"It's a good thing it's Christmas," Marie said. "I'm going to clock out soon, and then I will get days when I don't have to put up with your wit. No, that scene. The one with that guy. And he turns up at her door with the signs and the stereo. It's really romantic."
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Spencer said. "Because I can't dance either. And I don't have a stereo."
"There is no dancing," Marie told him. "He plays carols on his stereo and shows her a sign telling her how he feels about her. Because he can't have her, because Keira Knightley is married to someone else. Then she kisses his cheek and goes back inside to her husband. It's lovely."
"This story has a sad ending?" Spencer couldn't actually believe what he was hearing. "Brendon isn't married to anyone else. Why are you even telling me this?" Spencer resolutely did not think about Brendon in the future with his British guy who liked breakfast in bed. That didn't have to happen. Spencer could stop it. He could.
Marie rolled her eyes. "See if I try to help you out with your burgeoning romance again."
"Burgeoning romance?" Spencer raised his eyebrows. Marie raised hers right back. "Thank you for the paper, Marie. Go and see where David is with my petty cash."
~*~
Spencer went through six pieces of paper before he finally gave up and wrote the first thing that came into his head, in block capitals in the middle of a green piece of paper. Then he stuffed his phone into his pocket, picked up his sign, and resolutely marched out into the main office.
"David's back," Marie said, pointing at the entirety of Spencer's staff, crowded around the meeting table in the middle of the office. Like locusts, but with holiday bakery items.
"Excellent," Spencer said, distractedly. "Don't you want any?"
"I've got some," Marie said, pointing down at a napkin on the desk in front of her. She shrugged a shoulder. "Just wanted to check you didn't need anything. You know. For Brendon. Reception's just called. He's on his way up."
Spencer swallowed. "Okay," he said. "I'm good." He took four steps out of Marie's cube, and then turned on his heel and headed back into his office.
"Don't give up now," Marie called after him.
"I'm not," Spencer said, reaching up to where the mistletoe was hanging above his door. It was hanging by a piece of red ribbon, and when Spencer plucked it down off the hook, there was something written on the ribbon. It said, The ribbon on my wrist says, 'do not open before Christmas'. Spencer smiled, biting his lip. Pete. "I'm feeling young and reckless."
"Hmm," Marie said, narrowing her eyes. "Go on."
"I'm going," Spencer said. He really did feel younger than he had in ages, and kind of reckless, too. His stomach clenched, nervously, but he wanted this, he really did. He wanted Brendon. And he also wanted to show Brendon that he wasn't ashamed of him, not even a little bit.
He waited by the elevator, trying not to look too nervous. It didn't work. His staff kept shooting him interested glances. They weren't even trying to hide their curiosity. Spencer didn't care. He might be one of the youngest project managers in his area, and his department might be one of the best performers in the field, but Spencer's private life was his own, and he was going to live it. He wasn't going to spend another minute pretending to Harry Slater that he was planning on settling down with a woman. People could take him as they found him, and they were going to find him trying to tell Brendon he wanted to date him.
Spencer wasn't hiding anymore. From anything, or anyone. He squared his shoulders, and faced the elevator doors, holding his sign.
The elevator doors pinged, and Spencer was sure that they slid open far more slowly than they usually did. Brendon was standing right in the middle, bundled up in his stupid red coat and clutching a Starbucks run.
"Hi," Spencer said, breathlessly, ignoring Jeannie-from-finance, who followed Brendon out of the elevator and gave Spencer an odd look. Spencer's stomach was twisting. He was finally putting a name to how he felt, and it was kind of overwhelming.
"Hi," Brendon said, with a lopsided grin. He held out a Starbucks red cup and a paper bag. "I brought you coffee and Christmas cookies. Hope that's okay, you know, coming to your office and everything. Marie said I had to come up because you wanted something." He eyed Spencer's piece of paper with a puzzled glance. "What've you got there?"
"Oh," Spencer said, losing his nerve, and hiding the piece of paper and his mistletoe behind his back. "Nothing."
"Okay, weirdo," Brendon said, after a moment. "Do you want this, or not? I'm sure you've got like, a million things to do. Have you got a mug? I could tip it in."
"Uh," Spencer said, eloquently.
Brendon pointed at the wall by the water fountain. "That sign says red cups are banned."
No Starbucks Red Cups or Mistletoe or Joy In This Office. THIS IS A RESPECTABLE OFFICE, PEOPLE >:(. Spencer remembered that sign. He remembered this. He wasn't going to let it happen again, no matter how hard it was to admit to how he felt. He could feel the curious glances of his staff on his back, on Brendon.
"It's a stupid sign," Spencer said, quickly. He walked over and ripped it off the wall, dropping it in the trash can. Behind him, someone cheered. Brendon's gaze flicked from Spencer, to Spencer's whispering staff, back to Spencer again.
"It is a stupid sign," Brendon agreed, awkwardly. He held the red cup out, his cheeks pink.
Spencer reached out for it. "Thanks," he said, but he didn't look down. He couldn't. He wanted the message he'd seen on the cup when he'd been with Gerard to be real, more than anything. He wanted Brendon to want him like he wanted Brendon. He didn't want it to have been a dream. He chewed at his lip, trying not to stare at Brendon's mouth. How had he denied this to himself for so long?
"Look at it," Brendon said, after a moment. His cheeks burned, and he rocked on his heels, all pent-up energy and nervous tension.
"In a minute," Spencer said, softly. He kept on looking at Brendon's face.
"Spence," Brendon said, desperately.
"Here," Spencer said, rolling all his courage up into a ball and thrusting his piece of paper at Brendon. "Look at this."
"What—" Brendon's brow furrowed. "What is this?"
"Look at it," Spencer said, and Brendon did. Make out with me, Brendon Urie, it said. He'd tried to think of something more original, but Brendon had said it best already.
Brendon was holding on to Spencer's mistletoe.
"Spencer," Brendon said. "Spencer."
Spencer was staring at his coffee cup. It wasn't the same message. It had changed. In thick black sharpie, across the cardboard sleeve it said, Spencer Smith, I want you to be my boyfriend.
"You want me to be your boyfriend," Spencer said. His voice sounded weird to him, thick and gruff. His heart was pounding. "You like me."
"You want to make out with me," Brendon said, quickly. "You have mistletoe. Mistletoe with ribbon."
"I want to date you too," Spencer said, slowly. He kept looking at the mistletoe. He wanted to do so much more than date Brendon, but he didn't even know if he could put it into words. "I really, really want to date you. More than that. I want, I don't even know. I want everything. I want you."
"Yeah," Brendon said. A muscle flickered in his cheek. "That's what I want too. You, I mean. Not me. I've already got me. Fuck. Make me stop talking."
Spencer closed the distance between them, leaned in, and cupped Brendon's face in the hand he wasn't using to hold his red cup. "I've been such an idiot," he said. "I'm so sorry."
"You can make it up to me," Brendon breathed, and then he kissed Spencer like he really fucking meant it, wrapping his arms around Spencer's shoulders and pulling him even closer. Spencer slid his hand into Brendon's hair, and kissed him back.
Brendon had clearly snuck one of the Christmas cookies already; he tasted like cinnamon and spices and sweet sugar. Spencer chased the taste from one kiss to the next, and didn't want to stop. He only pulled away when the catcalls from his staff grew too loud to ignore.
"They're having a moment," he heard Marie say, loudly.
Brendon grinned against Spencer's mouth. "I thought you weren't out at work?" he said.
"I am now," Spencer said, and thought, no more hiding. He slipped his hand into Brendon's, and he couldn't stifle the way his heart leapt when Brendon squeezed his hand. He wanted to laugh, he was so happy.
"What changed?" Brendon asked, fingering the ribbon wrapped around the mistletoe stem.
Spencer shrugged, and tried not to think about how many people were watching them right now. He nodded over toward his office, tugging on Brendon's hand. "I did," he said, as he led Brendon down the aisle between the cubes to his office. He waited until they were inside and could close the door before he spoke again. He ignored the sharp rise in conversation from outside. "I changed. I didn't want to lose you, so I changed."
Brendon's eyes widened. "Me?"
Spencer nodded, and put his red cup down on the desk. "I was losing everyone," he said. "I didn't want that anymore. I needed it to change." He let out a breath, and pulled Brendon closer, sliding both his hands into Brendon's hair. Brendon came willingly, sneaking into the circle of Spencer's arms with something like practiced ease. "But it was mostly you."
"You came so fucking close to losing me, you have no idea," Brendon said. "This was totally your last chance. I was going to give up. Try and get over how I felt about you."
"I know," Spencer said, seriously. "I really know. I'm going to make it up to you. Best boyfriend ever, promise."
"Oh," Brendon said, eyebrows raised. "It's boyfriend now, is it?"
"That's what I want," Spencer said. "If you'll have me."
"Oh, I don't know," Brendon said. He looked like he was joking, but Spencer knew he wasn't, not really. "Are you going to hold my hand in public? Invite me places?" Spencer heard, Not hide me away.
Spencer tugged him closer. "All of the places," he said, softly. "Everywhere I go."
"Hmm," Brendon said, pretending like he was thinking it over. "I guess you could be on probation. See if you can manage not to screw up."
Spencer crossed his heart. "I promise." He leaned over into his in-tray, and pulled out a thick cream envelope that he'd been ignoring since the beginning of the month. He thrust it into Brendon's hand. "Here," he said. "Be my date to the company New Year's dinner. Please."
Brendon's eyes widened. "Spence—"
"I know, I know," Spencer said, before Brendon could even speak. "It'll be the most boring evening on the planet. I'll have to make it up to you big time for making you sit through it. But say yes, please."
Brendon smiled. "You've changed," he said. "What happened?"
Spencer shrugged, and curled his fingers around Brendon's hip. "I woke up," he said. "I saw some stuff about me that I didn't want to see, and I woke up, and I wanted to fix it. I wanted to fix us. You're one of the best things in my life and I was screwing it up. I wanted things to change."
Brendon nodded. "How about starting by kissing me again?" he said. "Just to prove that it happened, and I didn't make it up out of my head. It's for science."
"Oh, if it's for science," Spencer said, and leaned in to kiss him again. Brendon grinned against his mouth, and kissed him back.
[end]
When he woke up, Gerard Way was sitting in the corner of his office, smoking a cigarette and doodling on Spencer's notepad.
"Gerard Way," Spencer said, blinking away sleep.
"Hi," Gerard said. "I'm the ghost of Christmas Present, and I'm here to take you on a trip."
"You were the ghost of Christmas Past a minute ago," Spencer said, rubbing his eyes.
"Yeah," Gerard said. "It turns out you don't actually idolize all that many people, Spencer Smith. You should add it to your list of things to work on. The only other person on your list was Harry Potter, and we figured that having Harry Potter show up would be kind of weird, even for us. Plus, you know, which one? Book-version or movie-version?"
"Uh," Spencer said. He sat up, rolling his shoulders to get rid of the stiffness. He reached for his phone, but stopped halfway, realizing that he couldn't exactly call Ryan to find out where he was spending Christmas, or Brendon to apologize for earlier when he had Gerard Way in his office, being a ghost of Christmas. Maybe he was crazy. "Am I crazy?" he asked.
"Being crazy doesn't make you any less special of a person," Gerard told him. Being reprimanded by a ghost was kind of odd. "But no, you're not seeing things that aren't there. Stop worrying."
"You're a ghost," Spencer pointed out.
"And I drew you a picture," Gerard said, dropping the notepad and sharpie down on Spencer's desk. It was two doodles, one below the other on the paper. The first one was Spencer watching Brendon with stars in his eyes, the other was Brendon and him, holding hands on the top of a hill, the sky full of stars. Spencer couldn't help the way his heart leapt at the second one.
"Thanks," Spencer said, gruffly. His mouth was dry. "They're amazing."
"Awesome," Gerard said. "You should work on your creative outlets, too. You could be a pretty great drummer if you gave yourself a chance."
"I haven't played since I was a kid," Spencer said, dismissively.
"Good time to take it back up again, then," Gerard said. "Are you ready? We've got things to see."
"As I'll ever be," Spencer said, standing up. He waited for the walls to start to fade, but nothing happened.
"Take my hand," Gerard said, and Spencer could count on one hand the number of times he'd held hands with a guy in the last few years. He slipped his hand into Gerard's, kind of awkwardly, and Gerard squeezed. "Hold on," he said, and the room flicked into darkness as the wind started to whoosh around them. Then the lights flicked back on, and they were back in a living room, and there was this year's calendar on the wall, and this was Spencer's apartment.
"This is my place again," Spencer said.
"Sure it is," Gerard said, pointing at the door. "It's time to trim your tree."
Spencer could hear him and Brendon before he could see them. This day was like, a week ago, and Brendon had made Spencer walk three blocks to pick out a stupid Christmas tree and then walk three blocks back carrying the Christmas tree. Spencer had complained all of the way there and all of the way back and all of the way up the steps to his apartment.
"Shut up," Brendon said, outside of the door to the living room. "You love our Christmas tree, don't even front."
"I do not love it," the other Spencer complained, as Brendon fumbled with the door and burst into the living room. "I don't love how heavy it is, and how I have got pine needles down my neck and how we had to carry this thing a million miles."
"Three blocks," Brendon said, peaceably. "Stop complaining and stand it up straight. I'm going to get the trimmings."
"I don't love this thing at all," the other Spencer said, under his breath, looking for all the world like this was a total lie. Spencer wondered if what he was feeling was always written so clearly on his face. He'd thought he was good at hiding, but maybe he was wrong, because it didn't look at all like he hated trimming the tree with Brendon. No wonder Brendon never gave up bugging him to hang out with him. Whatever Spencer thought was written on his face, it wasn't the naked want that was all Spencer could see right now. He watched as Brendon stopped in the doorway, watching the other Spencer struggle to get the tree straight with an indulgent grin on his face.
"It's crooked," Brendon called out, dumping the box of decorations on the couch. "Get your ruler out, Spence."
"Fuck you," the other Spencer said, giving Brendon the finger. "It so is straight."
"Sure it is," Brendon said, dropping to his knees next to Spencer. His elbow bumped Spencer's, and both he and Spencer blushed a little and looked very fixedly at the tree for a moment until their blushes had faded.
Spencer didn't remember that. He just remembered being aware of how close Brendon was to him, and how important it suddenly was to concentrate on trimming the tree. It had taken them the whole morning to trim the tree, Brendon trying to attach decorations without any thought about the symmetry or where the lights were going to go. But that wasn't how it looked right now, the two of them sneaking glances at each other when they thought the other wasn't looking. Spencer remembered trying to keep an eye on where Brendon was putting the decorations, but the other Spencer wasn't looking at Brendon's hands. He was watching his face, and when he was leaning over the decorations box, Brendon was watching him.
It made Spencer breathless just watching, and his stomach flipped every time he saw the way Brendon looked at him. All of a sudden he wanted more than anything to close the distance between the two of them and kiss Brendon, over and over and over. It just felt like he was finally putting a name to that feeling that was trapped in his chest every single time he looked at Brendon. It wasn't annoyance, or frustration, or even friendship or closeness or any of the other names that Spencer had tried throwing at the way he felt over the past couple of years. It was this, it was wanting to kiss Brendon and have him kiss back. It was everything, and Spencer couldn't breathe.
"Careful," Gerard said, as Spencer took an involuntary step forward. He curled his hand around Spencer's arm, holding him back. "They can't see you. He can't see you."
"I want—" Spencer started, but he didn't know what he wanted. He wanted to be out of this stupid dream or whatever the fuck it was and he wanted to be back in a place where he could talk to Brendon and figure out what the fuck he wanted, what that feeling was in his chest, have Brendon in front of him so that he could know for sure.
But Gerard just slipped his hand into Spencer's, and the room went dark, and the wind rose around them, cocooning them close. Then the lights flicked back on and the wind disappeared, and Spencer didn't recognize where they were at all.
"Where are we?" he asked, sneaking his hand out of Gerard's sweaty one so he could wander over to the bookshelves by the bed and take a look at what was on the shelves. Anything so that he could get his breath back and wait for the flush on his cheeks to die away.
"Chicago," Gerard said. "Ryan's apartment, to be exact."
"I don't recognize this place," Spencer said, which was kind of a stupid thing to say, since he hadn't visited Ryan in over a year.
"Sure you don't," Gerard said, earnestly. "You'll barely recognize Ryan, either. You've got to start keeping up, Spencer. Friendships need work."
"He's my best friend," Spencer said, even though that wasn't exactly the truth, either. That's what they had been, before. Spencer tried to ignore the sick, empty feeling in his stomach at the realization.
"It's not too late," Gerard said, tugging at his sleeve. "Come on. Through here."
They were in Ryan's living room, and Ryan was sprawled across the couch, the phone pressed to his ear. Next to him, a guy Spencer recognized from when he used to visit Chicago was dozing, head on Ryan's shoulder. Jon. He hadn't had a beard last time Spencer had seen him.
"You're always busy," Ryan was saying, into the phone. "It's Christmas Eve, don't you close up early, anyway?"
With a sick jolt, Spencer realized that Ryan was talking to him, and that this was today. There was a bong on the coffee table, and an empty baggie where the weed used to be next to it.
"Go home," Ryan said, taking something out of his pocket. A small velvet bag. "Go hang out with your roommate and watch Christmas movies."
Spencer couldn't take his eyes off the bag. As he watched, Ryan undid the drawstring and pulled out a tiny black box. The kind of box that held a ring, Spencer realized, and his eyes widened as Ryan flicked it open. A shiny silver band with a glittering jewel. An engagement ring.
He tuned back in to what Ryan was saying. "Yeah, okay. So, you remember that—" Ryan was beaming, and he was fingering the ring, taking it out of the case and turning it over and over in his hand. And then his smile fell, and Spencer knew why. He felt sick. "I guess," Ryan said, sadly, and when he hung up and dropped the phone back on the couch next to him, Spencer wanted to rewind this whole day and have the conversation again.
He watched as Ryan shook Jon awake, and held out the ring.
"Is that for me?" Jon asked, gruffly, rubbing his eyes and staring down at Ryan's hand. "Because you really shouldn't have."
"Fuck you," Ryan said, pushing at Jon's shoulder with his palm. "It's for Z. I'm going to ask her to marry me."
Jon's face curved into a wide, bright smile. "Dude," he said. "Dude."
"I know, right?" Ryan said, delightedly.
Jon laughed. "Congratulations," he said.
"She hasn't said yes, yet," Ryan reminded him.
Jon grinned, and as Spencer watched, misery clawing at his gut, Gerard tucked his hand into Spencer's.
"Come on," Gerard said, and the room flicked into darkness and the wind began to roar.
This time, when the lights flicked back on, they were in a coffee shop. Starbucks.
"What are we doing here?" Spencer asked, to cover up how miserable he felt at what he'd missed Ryan telling him.
"Catching up with Brendon," Gerard said, letting go of Spencer's hand and slipping behind the counter. "Do you want a toffee nut, peppermint or gingerbread latte?"
"Gingerbread," Spencer said, distractedly. He scanned the tables, and then the line. Brendon was near the front, eyes trained on the glass-fronted cabinets with all of the cakes and muffins and cookies on display. His heart jumped and Spencer wondered why he'd tried to deny how he felt about Brendon for so long. He'd dismissed him as just a roommate, not even a friend, and he felt terrible. He wanted so much more. He couldn't help it, he snuck a little closer, peering over Brendon's shoulder to stare at the shelves of cakes and cookies, breathing in the familiar scent of Brendon's shower gel and aftershave. He wanted to touch Brendon so much.
"Come over here," Gerard said, tugging on Spencer's sleeve.
Spencer didn't want to move, but Gerard's grip was strong.
"Here," Gerard said, handing him a takeaway red cup. Spencer's stomach dropped at the memory of Brendon dropping the coffee into the trash can, earlier. Suddenly he realized what they were doing here, what Brendon was doing here, and Spencer wanted to fix this more than anything.
But he couldn't, so Spencer had to stand and watch as Brendon ordered two coffees and a selection of cookies. The barista put them into a bag for him, and Brendon moved down the line to the waiting area at the end of the coffee machines. When his coffee was ready, Brendon leaned over and asked the barista if he could borrow his sharpie. Blushing a fiery red, Brendon leaned over one of the coffee cups and wrote, MAKE OUT WITH ME, SPENCER SMITH, in thick black sharpie.
"There," Brendon said, in a determined voice, showing the barista. "Can't lose my nerve this time, right?"
"This time?" the barista asked, one eyebrow raised.
"You have no idea," Brendon said. "But this time I am determined to actually ask him. No more chickening out at the last minute."
The barista grinned. "Good luck," he said.
"Yeah," Brendon said, chewing on his lip. "Yeah."
"Oh god," Spencer managed. He was going to be sick. He kept seeing Brendon dropping the cup into the trash, over and over and over and over. "I screwed this up so fucking badly."
Gerard looked at him, sympathetically. "You really, really did," he said.
Spencer shook his head. "I don't want to see anymore," he begged. "Please, just take me back. I want to go home. "
"You sure?" Gerard asked, after a moment.
"More than anything," Spencer said. "Please."
"Okay, then," Gerard said, and this time, when the wind whirled around them and the lights flicked out, they didn't turn back on again.
~*~
He woke up to someone shaking his shoulder. "Spencer, Spence."
"What," Spencer said, shaking himself awake. For a split second he allowed himself to believe that it had all been a dream, but it wasn't, and it hadn't been, because Pete Wentz was standing over him, clutching a handful of photographs.
"Time to wake up, Sleepy-head," Pete said.
"Oh god, not more ghosts," Spencer begged. "Please, just let me go home. I've got shit to fix, please."
"Just me left," Pete said, brightly. "Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come."
"I really, really don't want to see," Spencer said, firmly. "Take me home."
"This is the way home," Pete told him. "It's the only way home." He pushed a coffee cup across the table to Spencer. "Gerard left this for you."
Spencer took a long gulp and then put it down heavily on the table top. "Okay, then, I'm ready. If this is the only way back then I'm ready."
"Awesome stuff," Pete said, and tugged a chair closer. "Sit down, we're not going anywhere."
"We're not?" Spencer asked in surprise.
"We're not," Pete confirmed. "We're just going to have a little slideshow. Put your feet up." He waved at Spencer's desk, and Spencer bent down to undo his shoelaces. He didn't believe in shoes on the desk, at least not at work. At home, he let Brendon put his feet up on the coffee table sometimes because Brendon had a way of getting around Spencer when Spencer least expected it. Just the thought of Brendon made his heart sink, and from Brendon, it was an easy leap to Ryan. Spencer swallowed, and fumbled with his shoelaces. He felt—ashamed.
Pete laughed, incongruously loud in the quiet of the bright office, and Spencer sat up to toe off his shoes. A large projection screen covered one wall of his office; it hadn't been there a minute ago. The pictures Pete had been holding in his hand had disappeared, and instead, he was holding a remote control.
"Are we all sitting comfortably?" Pete asked, waving the remote around. "Grab your coffee, dude." He pressed a button and the whole wall was suddenly filled with a giant picture of a wedding. Ryan was standing in the middle of the shot, Z's hand tucked into Ryan's arm. Next to Z were her three bridesmaids, all in sixties mini-dresses. Next to Ryan were three guys in suits, and Spencer wasn't one of them.
Spencer's stomach dropped.
"You weren't a groomsman," Pete told him, as if Spencer couldn't figure that out on his own. "Great day, though, there was a synchronized dance routine."
"Did I—" Spencer didn't know what to say. "Did I go?"
"Well, the question isn't did you, not really," Pete mused. "It's do you. Do you go? It's up to you."
Spencer frowned, and Pete leaned over and bumped his elbow into Spencer's, a sad sort-of smile on his face.
"The future isn't written yet," Pete said, softly. "It's exactly what you make of it." He leaned his cheek against Spencer's shoulder. After a moment, he pressed a button on the remote so that the picture changed, this time to one of Spencer's parents and his sisters and two guys Spencer didn't recognize, all sitting around the table in Spencer's parents' dining room, charging their glasses. His dad's hair was a little more silver than Spencer remembered, and his sisters looked older. Jackie was wearing a wedding ring.
"Where am I?" Spencer asked, even though he knew the answer. His stomach clenched. "I'm not there."
Pete shrugged. "Working your way through The Simpsons on DVD and doing the figures for the new Hewson contract. You call your mom later."
"That's pretty specific," Spencer said, tightly. His throat felt hoarse.
"It's a pretty specific picture," Pete said. He sat back, and watched Spencer for a long moment.
"Sure," Spencer said, but he wasn't listening, because the picture had changed again, and this time Spencer knew exactly what he was looking at. Brendon's empty bedroom in Spencer's apartment. The bed was bare, the closet empty, and there was a soft layer of dust on the windowsill. He didn't want to ask, but he couldn't not. "Where's Brendon?"
"Celebrating Christmas with a guy named Tony," Pete said, without looking away from the picture on the wall. "He's English. He makes Brendon laugh; he thinks the accent's a turn on. Brendon makes him breakfast in bed."
Spencer nodded. The gnawing, hollow feeling in his stomach was only getting worse. The thought of Brendon with anyone else made him feel jealous and fearful in a way he'd never felt before. The thought of his apartment without Brendon in it made him feel even worse. How had he not known how important coming home to someone was? How much he appreciated living with Brendon? He'd spent so long trying to hide Brendon away, even from himself, that the realization of how much he'd come to mean to Spencer was much more of a shock than he'd thought it was going to be. His head was swimming.
"It doesn't have to happen, though, right? You get that."
"Huh?" Spencer said, without listening. He was replaying the sound of Brendon's coffee cup hitting the trash can for the hundredth time.
"Spence. This isn't set in stone."
"You're the ghost of Christmas yet to come," Spencer pointed out. "You showed me pictures. That's kind of, you know, the future." A lonely future, Spencer realized, thinking about Ryan, and Brendon's empty bedroom, and the family Christmas celebrations he wasn't a part of. He didn't want that.
"Dude, there's a precedent," Pete said. "I'm not going to rename myself 'the ghost of Christmases that might happen if you don't pull your finger out' just to satisfy your persnickety-ness."
"Not a word," Spencer said, still staring at the picture superimposed on his office wall.
"You're being even more persnickety now," Pete said, rolling his eyes. "Are you always this much of a dumbass?"
Spencer blinked. "I don't want this," he said, softly, looking down at his lap. "I don't want any of this. I just want to go home and fix it all."
Pete didn't say anything for a moment. "It's not set in stone, Spencer Smith," he said, and Spencer nodded. He didn't believe it, not really. It was too late. "It's what might be," Pete said. "It's how it could be."
"You're the Ghost of Christmas yet to come," Spencer repeated. "It seems pretty specific."
"If you don't change anything," Pete said, softly. "You want to end up like me? A ghost?"
"You're Pete Wentz," Spencer said.
"Sort of. Mostly not," Pete said. "You've got to get yourself some more heroes, dude. This whole Ghost of Christmas schtick works better when we don't have to turn up twice and pretend we haven't been here before."
"I will," Spencer said. He actually meant it, too. He was going to change. He was going to do better. He was going to be better. He just needed to get home so he could start fixing stuff. He figured that it would hurt less if he was just there, and not here.
"And, okay, this is a tip for you:" Pete nodded his head, "dude, when you get back, don't go out and buy the biggest turkey you can find. It's fucking Christmas, no one's going to want to spend the whole fucking day jamming it in the oven. And then you're going to have to have everyone over, and people already have plans—"
"What the fuck," Spencer said, because just for a second his ghost sounded like a crazy person.
"Just some friendly ghostly advice," Pete said. "It's not like I haven't done this before. This is the first time I've been Pete Wentz, though. You think I can play the guitar, too?"
"I think you should take me home," Spencer said, decisively. Whether or not his ghost could play the guitar was kind of a pointless line of thought.
Pete watched him for a moment. "Did you learn anything?"
"—Not to buy a turkey for everyone to share?"
"Was it worthwhile, though?" Pete asked. "Because sometimes it isn't." He looked suddenly really fucking old. "Sometimes it's just kind of pointless. Everything stays the same. They stay the same."
"I'm not the same," Spencer said, because he wasn't. He said it again, louder this time. "I'm not."
"Good," Pete said, so quietly Spencer could barely hear him.
"Do I have to tell you again about when it's appropriate to use our indoor voices?" Marie asked, from the doorway. "You don't have to shout, the intercom is right there."
Spencer spun around in his chair. Marie was standing in the open door of Spencer's office, her arms folded, and above her a sprig of mistletoe hung from the doorframe.
"Marie," Spencer said, in sheer relief. Pete. He twisted around, looking for Pete, but the projection screen had gone, and so had the pictures of Spencer's future, and so had Pete. The office was empty, apart from Spencer, and now Marie standing in the doorway.
"What," Marie said, raising an eyebrow, "you couldn't remember how to push the button? Do we need to have another training session?"
"What day is it?" Spencer interrupted, pushing the papers on his desk to one side. The digital clock on his desk read 10:15 in bright red letters, but his desk calendar was missing.
Marie rolled her eyes. "Christmas Eve," she said. "And I know what you said about it being just another working day, and no holiday decorations, but it is the day before Christmas. You've got to give people some leeway, especially if you're going to make us work right up until the building closes. You haven't changed your mind about an extra half a day's leave, have you? All of the other departments—"
Spencer couldn't help the way his heart leapt in his chest. Christmas Eve. He got to do it all again. "We're a couple of days ahead on this project, right?" he asked, eyeing the sprig of mistletoe that had somehow found its way on to his desk, and not listening to Marie. When he moved it out of the way, he found himself face to face with Gerard's drawings of him and Brendon. It really happened, he thought, and when he opened his mouth to speak, his voice shook. "Tell everyone they can finish up at lunchtime," he said, not waiting for Marie to check their progress against the schedule. "And get me Ryan Ross on the phone."
Marie's brow furrowed. "What?" she said, carefully.
"Everyone can go home at lunch," Spencer said. His heart thumped in his chest. He was already fumbling in his pocket for his cell phone, switching it on so he could call Ryan and actually ask him how he was spending Christmas. "Tell them they can take an extra half day after the holiday, too, and once this project's done we'll close the office for a long weekend. And don't call Ryan, I'll do it."
"Are you feeling okay?" Marie asked, carefully. "You want me to wave a red cup in front of you? Remind you why you hate the holiday season?"
"Oh, coffee," Spencer said, with a sigh of relief. He still had time. "Can you call Brendon and see if he can come by? No, screw that, I'll call him. Call that bakery on the corner and see if they have any Christmas cookies or pastries left they can bring up. Or that we can go and pick up. I don't know. I think we need cake. You want cake, right?"
Marie blinked. "Yes," she said, carefully. "Do you want me to get you some Tylenol, or anything?"
"Coffee," Spencer said, standing up and pacing his office. "I have a lot to do. Do you have my parents' number out there?" His fingers shook as he scrolled through his numbers in his phone until he got to Ryan's. "Actually, never mind, I'll call them myself. Just see about the bakery. And emailing everyone about going home. And if Brendon calls while I'm on with Ryan, tell him to come on over, I want to see him. I've got to tell him something. I've got to tell everybody something."
"—Brendon, your roommate?" Marie asked, raising her eyebrows. "But you never take his calls."
"Yes," Spencer said, nodding quickly, "because I'm a dick who doesn't recognize a good thing when I've got it. You think I can stop him from leaving me?"
"From leaving you," Marie repeated, her eyebrows so high they were hidden under her thick, dark bangs. "As in..."
"As in, I'd really kind of like to actually date him," Spencer went on, pressing his thumb over Ryan's name in his phonebook. "Like, outside of my apartment. Our apartment. And inside of our apartment too, thinking about it. You'll get the cake?"
"Uh," Marie said. "Yes?"
"Excellent," Spencer said, chewing on his lip and holding his phone to his ear. He had a lot to get through today if he was going to fix everything before Brendon showed up. The call connected and Spencer let out a breath. "Ry?"
"Spencer," Ryan said, a little hazily. "I was going to call you later. Aren't you at work?"
"Yeah," Spencer said, suddenly so thankful that he was actually talking to Ryan that he sat down heavily in his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose. "But I haven't talked to you in a while, and I figured work could wait."
"That's a first," Ryan said. He coughed, inhaling loudly.
"First of many," Spencer said, and for the first time in a long time he recognized that feeling in his chest, the one he'd tried to ignore for so long that he'd almost forgotten it was there, he was so used to the way it felt. I miss you. "I thought I might come up and see you after New Year's," he said, quickly, before he could think about it too much and it all got too difficult to say. "I miss you."
"Dude," Ryan said, and his voice sounded rough, but when he laughed, something eased in Spencer's chest. "I've been asking you forever."
"My bad," Spencer said. "Seriously. I'm a shit. Are you with Jon?"
"He's asleep," Ryan said, sounding warm and affectionate. "We went to this awesome party last night. You should have been there."
"Next time," Spencer said, confidently, even though the kind of parties that Ryan went to weren't exactly Spencer's idea of a great night. "You should tell him I said hi, though. And to save some of the good stuff for when I get up there."
"Yeah, this stuff is the shit," Ryan said, exhaling loudly. "Probably a fucking Christmas blend or something, knowing Jon. Hey. Look, I was going to call and tell you later, but, uh."
Spencer remembered the tiny velvet bag he'd seen Ryan pull out of his pocket, and the way Ryan's eyes had shone as he'd taken out the ring. "Yeah?" he said, a little breathlessly.
"I'm going to ask Z to marry me," Ryan said, quickly. "And before you say it, we're not too young, fuck. We've been together for ages -"
"I'm really fucking happy for you," Spencer said, before Ryan could say anything else.
Ryan let out a long breath. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," Spencer said. "So, when are you going to ask her?"
"Christmas morning," Ryan said, and Spencer let out a breath. He was going to be at that wedding. Things were going to change, he could feel it.
~*~
He was still talking to Ryan when Marie stuck her head around the door and said, "Brendon's just called. He's coming over, like you said."
Spencer's mouth went suddenly dry. "Brendon's coming over," he told Ryan.
"Great," Ryan said. "Have you figured out what you want to say yet?"
"No," Spencer said. "Oh fuck, I have to go figure out what I'm going to say. Is it too late to make flashcards?"
Ryan laughed. "Pretty much," he said. "Look, okay. I'm glad you called, okay? I was beginning to forget what you sounded like."
"Yeah," Spencer said, his attention momentarily shifting from Brendon back to Ryan. "Yeah. Ryan—I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry. I got so caught up—"
"We'll talk about it later," Ryan said. "I've got to go to bed, anyway. It's really fucking late."
Spencer rolled his eyes. "Some of us have been up since six am."
"Some of us need to get a life," Ryan said. "Look, go win your guy, okay? I'm pretty sure he's open to being won. Or whatever."
"How do you even know?" Spencer asked, in disbelief.
"I do have friends that aren't you, you know," Ryan said. "Brent told me. He actually calls me. Unlike some people."
Spencer couldn't avoid how guilty that made him feel. "Sorry," he said. "I got caught up."
"Yeah, yeah," Ryan said. "I'll call you tomorrow. Say happy holidays and all that."
"See you," Spencer said, softly, and Ryan disconnected the call. Spencer looked down at his phone for a moment, the sad, tight feeling in his chest dissipating, just for a moment.
"I've sent David down to the bakery," Marie said, coming in with a stack of colored paper and a marker pen. "You didn't need the petty cash for anything other than cake, right?"
Spencer blinked. "There had better be receipts," he said, very definitely not thinking about his carefully balanced accounts.
"I have told him, under pain of death, that he'd better come back with a receipt," Marie agreed, dumping the marker and the papers on Spencer's desk. "Now, okay, I'm not saying you have to do it, but Love Actually is my favorite Christmas movie."
Spencer stared down at the papers. "And you want me to, what? Recreate it with stick figures? Because I can't actually draw."
"It's a good thing it's Christmas," Marie said. "I'm going to clock out soon, and then I will get days when I don't have to put up with your wit. No, that scene. The one with that guy. And he turns up at her door with the signs and the stereo. It's really romantic."
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Spencer said. "Because I can't dance either. And I don't have a stereo."
"There is no dancing," Marie told him. "He plays carols on his stereo and shows her a sign telling her how he feels about her. Because he can't have her, because Keira Knightley is married to someone else. Then she kisses his cheek and goes back inside to her husband. It's lovely."
"This story has a sad ending?" Spencer couldn't actually believe what he was hearing. "Brendon isn't married to anyone else. Why are you even telling me this?" Spencer resolutely did not think about Brendon in the future with his British guy who liked breakfast in bed. That didn't have to happen. Spencer could stop it. He could.
Marie rolled her eyes. "See if I try to help you out with your burgeoning romance again."
"Burgeoning romance?" Spencer raised his eyebrows. Marie raised hers right back. "Thank you for the paper, Marie. Go and see where David is with my petty cash."
~*~
Spencer went through six pieces of paper before he finally gave up and wrote the first thing that came into his head, in block capitals in the middle of a green piece of paper. Then he stuffed his phone into his pocket, picked up his sign, and resolutely marched out into the main office.
"David's back," Marie said, pointing at the entirety of Spencer's staff, crowded around the meeting table in the middle of the office. Like locusts, but with holiday bakery items.
"Excellent," Spencer said, distractedly. "Don't you want any?"
"I've got some," Marie said, pointing down at a napkin on the desk in front of her. She shrugged a shoulder. "Just wanted to check you didn't need anything. You know. For Brendon. Reception's just called. He's on his way up."
Spencer swallowed. "Okay," he said. "I'm good." He took four steps out of Marie's cube, and then turned on his heel and headed back into his office.
"Don't give up now," Marie called after him.
"I'm not," Spencer said, reaching up to where the mistletoe was hanging above his door. It was hanging by a piece of red ribbon, and when Spencer plucked it down off the hook, there was something written on the ribbon. It said, The ribbon on my wrist says, 'do not open before Christmas'. Spencer smiled, biting his lip. Pete. "I'm feeling young and reckless."
"Hmm," Marie said, narrowing her eyes. "Go on."
"I'm going," Spencer said. He really did feel younger than he had in ages, and kind of reckless, too. His stomach clenched, nervously, but he wanted this, he really did. He wanted Brendon. And he also wanted to show Brendon that he wasn't ashamed of him, not even a little bit.
He waited by the elevator, trying not to look too nervous. It didn't work. His staff kept shooting him interested glances. They weren't even trying to hide their curiosity. Spencer didn't care. He might be one of the youngest project managers in his area, and his department might be one of the best performers in the field, but Spencer's private life was his own, and he was going to live it. He wasn't going to spend another minute pretending to Harry Slater that he was planning on settling down with a woman. People could take him as they found him, and they were going to find him trying to tell Brendon he wanted to date him.
Spencer wasn't hiding anymore. From anything, or anyone. He squared his shoulders, and faced the elevator doors, holding his sign.
The elevator doors pinged, and Spencer was sure that they slid open far more slowly than they usually did. Brendon was standing right in the middle, bundled up in his stupid red coat and clutching a Starbucks run.
"Hi," Spencer said, breathlessly, ignoring Jeannie-from-finance, who followed Brendon out of the elevator and gave Spencer an odd look. Spencer's stomach was twisting. He was finally putting a name to how he felt, and it was kind of overwhelming.
"Hi," Brendon said, with a lopsided grin. He held out a Starbucks red cup and a paper bag. "I brought you coffee and Christmas cookies. Hope that's okay, you know, coming to your office and everything. Marie said I had to come up because you wanted something." He eyed Spencer's piece of paper with a puzzled glance. "What've you got there?"
"Oh," Spencer said, losing his nerve, and hiding the piece of paper and his mistletoe behind his back. "Nothing."
"Okay, weirdo," Brendon said, after a moment. "Do you want this, or not? I'm sure you've got like, a million things to do. Have you got a mug? I could tip it in."
"Uh," Spencer said, eloquently.
Brendon pointed at the wall by the water fountain. "That sign says red cups are banned."
No Starbucks Red Cups or Mistletoe or Joy In This Office. THIS IS A RESPECTABLE OFFICE, PEOPLE >:(. Spencer remembered that sign. He remembered this. He wasn't going to let it happen again, no matter how hard it was to admit to how he felt. He could feel the curious glances of his staff on his back, on Brendon.
"It's a stupid sign," Spencer said, quickly. He walked over and ripped it off the wall, dropping it in the trash can. Behind him, someone cheered. Brendon's gaze flicked from Spencer, to Spencer's whispering staff, back to Spencer again.
"It is a stupid sign," Brendon agreed, awkwardly. He held the red cup out, his cheeks pink.
Spencer reached out for it. "Thanks," he said, but he didn't look down. He couldn't. He wanted the message he'd seen on the cup when he'd been with Gerard to be real, more than anything. He wanted Brendon to want him like he wanted Brendon. He didn't want it to have been a dream. He chewed at his lip, trying not to stare at Brendon's mouth. How had he denied this to himself for so long?
"Look at it," Brendon said, after a moment. His cheeks burned, and he rocked on his heels, all pent-up energy and nervous tension.
"In a minute," Spencer said, softly. He kept on looking at Brendon's face.
"Spence," Brendon said, desperately.
"Here," Spencer said, rolling all his courage up into a ball and thrusting his piece of paper at Brendon. "Look at this."
"What—" Brendon's brow furrowed. "What is this?"
"Look at it," Spencer said, and Brendon did. Make out with me, Brendon Urie, it said. He'd tried to think of something more original, but Brendon had said it best already.
Brendon was holding on to Spencer's mistletoe.
"Spencer," Brendon said. "Spencer."
Spencer was staring at his coffee cup. It wasn't the same message. It had changed. In thick black sharpie, across the cardboard sleeve it said, Spencer Smith, I want you to be my boyfriend.
"You want me to be your boyfriend," Spencer said. His voice sounded weird to him, thick and gruff. His heart was pounding. "You like me."
"You want to make out with me," Brendon said, quickly. "You have mistletoe. Mistletoe with ribbon."
"I want to date you too," Spencer said, slowly. He kept looking at the mistletoe. He wanted to do so much more than date Brendon, but he didn't even know if he could put it into words. "I really, really want to date you. More than that. I want, I don't even know. I want everything. I want you."
"Yeah," Brendon said. A muscle flickered in his cheek. "That's what I want too. You, I mean. Not me. I've already got me. Fuck. Make me stop talking."
Spencer closed the distance between them, leaned in, and cupped Brendon's face in the hand he wasn't using to hold his red cup. "I've been such an idiot," he said. "I'm so sorry."
"You can make it up to me," Brendon breathed, and then he kissed Spencer like he really fucking meant it, wrapping his arms around Spencer's shoulders and pulling him even closer. Spencer slid his hand into Brendon's hair, and kissed him back.
Brendon had clearly snuck one of the Christmas cookies already; he tasted like cinnamon and spices and sweet sugar. Spencer chased the taste from one kiss to the next, and didn't want to stop. He only pulled away when the catcalls from his staff grew too loud to ignore.
"They're having a moment," he heard Marie say, loudly.
Brendon grinned against Spencer's mouth. "I thought you weren't out at work?" he said.
"I am now," Spencer said, and thought, no more hiding. He slipped his hand into Brendon's, and he couldn't stifle the way his heart leapt when Brendon squeezed his hand. He wanted to laugh, he was so happy.
"What changed?" Brendon asked, fingering the ribbon wrapped around the mistletoe stem.
Spencer shrugged, and tried not to think about how many people were watching them right now. He nodded over toward his office, tugging on Brendon's hand. "I did," he said, as he led Brendon down the aisle between the cubes to his office. He waited until they were inside and could close the door before he spoke again. He ignored the sharp rise in conversation from outside. "I changed. I didn't want to lose you, so I changed."
Brendon's eyes widened. "Me?"
Spencer nodded, and put his red cup down on the desk. "I was losing everyone," he said. "I didn't want that anymore. I needed it to change." He let out a breath, and pulled Brendon closer, sliding both his hands into Brendon's hair. Brendon came willingly, sneaking into the circle of Spencer's arms with something like practiced ease. "But it was mostly you."
"You came so fucking close to losing me, you have no idea," Brendon said. "This was totally your last chance. I was going to give up. Try and get over how I felt about you."
"I know," Spencer said, seriously. "I really know. I'm going to make it up to you. Best boyfriend ever, promise."
"Oh," Brendon said, eyebrows raised. "It's boyfriend now, is it?"
"That's what I want," Spencer said. "If you'll have me."
"Oh, I don't know," Brendon said. He looked like he was joking, but Spencer knew he wasn't, not really. "Are you going to hold my hand in public? Invite me places?" Spencer heard, Not hide me away.
Spencer tugged him closer. "All of the places," he said, softly. "Everywhere I go."
"Hmm," Brendon said, pretending like he was thinking it over. "I guess you could be on probation. See if you can manage not to screw up."
Spencer crossed his heart. "I promise." He leaned over into his in-tray, and pulled out a thick cream envelope that he'd been ignoring since the beginning of the month. He thrust it into Brendon's hand. "Here," he said. "Be my date to the company New Year's dinner. Please."
Brendon's eyes widened. "Spence—"
"I know, I know," Spencer said, before Brendon could even speak. "It'll be the most boring evening on the planet. I'll have to make it up to you big time for making you sit through it. But say yes, please."
Brendon smiled. "You've changed," he said. "What happened?"
Spencer shrugged, and curled his fingers around Brendon's hip. "I woke up," he said. "I saw some stuff about me that I didn't want to see, and I woke up, and I wanted to fix it. I wanted to fix us. You're one of the best things in my life and I was screwing it up. I wanted things to change."
Brendon nodded. "How about starting by kissing me again?" he said. "Just to prove that it happened, and I didn't make it up out of my head. It's for science."
"Oh, if it's for science," Spencer said, and leaned in to kiss him again. Brendon grinned against his mouth, and kissed him back.
[end]
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