Archive of Our Own

A funeral is really the wrong place to learn you've inherited a business, but Jon figures it's as good a place as any in the long run.

"She left it all to you," his mom says to him quietly, her hand squeezing his shoulder. "I don't expect you to accept it, but I thought you should know. It's in the will."

Jon sticks his hands in the pockets of his black suit and looks around the room, full of people who came to pay their respects to one Katherine Ann Walker. He suddenly remembers afternoons as a kid spent in his grandmother's lap, listening to her read him James and The Giant Peach while sitting behind a cash register. He remembers the smell of dust and old paper, the sounds of an old calculator grinding out receipts.

"No," Jon replies. "It's mine now. She wanted me to have it, so it's a done deal."

His mom nods. "Then I'll get the paperwork in order."

~

Katherine "Kat" Walker owned Between the Lines Used Books for over forty years. She used to say the store had been a birthday present from Jon's grandfather because she'd always wanted her own bookstore, but his grandfather said he won it in a poker game from a guy desperate to get rid of the empty space.

The store sits on the corner of a calm intersection, tucked between a Kinko's and a music store that deals primarily in microphones and sound equipment. The Kinko's is fairly new, while the music store is almost as old as the bookstore; the brick on the outside wall has been covered in graffiti more than once, and gradually the colors and designs have faded enough to give the place a feel of authenticity (the brick outside of Between the Lines, however, is painted white, because it made it easier for Kat to simply blot out said graffiti, and eventually the vandals got tired of redoing their work).

Jon's childhood consisted of video games played on an ancient color TV with rabbit ears wrapped in duct tape in Kat's musty back office after school. He loved it when his grandmother read to him, but, much to her dismay, he was never a voracious reader. The store was more than reading, though; it was learning genres and authors and what covers would make Kat smile whenever someone dropped off a sack of unwanted paperbacks.

"My goodness," she'd say, holding a yellowed sci-fi novel out to him that looked to be around a million years old. "Twenty-five cents for three hundred pages. How the written word has inflated, hmm, Jonny?"

Jon now has a special affinity now for old paperbacks with the price stamped on the front cover.

When he got old enough to work the register, he had his first part-time job, which lasted until the summer he graduated high school and left for college. By then the store felt a little stifling, like he'd outgrown the walls and the ancient wooden shelves Kat had never bothered to replace. Like a typical teenager, he felt the place cramped his style somewhat, and while he loved his grandmother dearly, he just didn't have the patience to spend his free time in a used bookstore.

He sometimes misses the feel of his hands being dry and cracked from handling old paper, the tips of his fingers slightly blackened from typeface. His Super Nintendo is still sitting in Kat's office, plugged into the television with the sad, droopy rabbit ears.

Jon comes back to the store two days after the funeral, and it's the first time he's been inside in over a year. It still smells exactly the same way it did when he was five; he runs his thumb over the wood of the doorway, over the crude initials craved there: JJW wuz here (he'd been ten, and afterwards Kat had banished him to the back office for the rest of the afternoon. He also wasn't allowed to play with his grandfather's Swiss Army knife any more).

"I wondered when I'd see you around."

He looks up and sees Ryan leaning against the counter by the register, his expression neutral. Ryan has worked at Between the Lines for nearly four years - basically, the entirety of his college career. Kat had hired him after a five minute interview that consisted of Ryan naming all his favorite authors during high school, and then promising to tell her about everything he'd eventually read in his English classes. Jon's pretty sure he's a semester away from a Bachelor's in English Literature - or maybe it's Creative Writing. Either way, Jon likes to half-joke that Ryan's the grandson Kat always wanted.

And now he's sort of the manager, or has been for quite some time, ever since Kat grew too ill to manage the store on her own. Jon doesn't know what's official and what's not in terms of titles; Kat didn't work that way. He's fairly certain Ryan's promotion was nothing more than Kat handing him a spare key and telling him to make sure the electric bill got paid.

Ryan has never expressed an opinion on Jon, for better or worse. Jon knows he's protective of the store, and of Kat's wishes, but whether or not he knows about her will is another story.

He takes a deep breath, smiles tentatively. "Yeah, it's been a while, hasn't it?" He walks slowly around the front of the store, down the narrow aisle that leads past the meticulously categorized shelves that are alphabetized by genre. The store may be old, cramped, and dusty, but it's always, always organized.

"I couldn't make the funeral, but I'm." Ryan pauses, drums his fingers on the counter. "I'm pretty sure I don't have to tell you what she meant to this place. To me."

Jon smiles. "No, you don't. And I guess this is where I tell you I'm your new boss?" He laughs, just to make it sound not quite so pretentious.

Ryan doesn't even blink. "It's not like I didn't know." There's no emotion behind it whatsoever, and it makes Jon fidget.

"Well, it was news to me. But, hey, you've still got your job and all, and I don't plan to make any huge - "

"Jon." Ryan's voice is sharp suddenly, and Jon startles a bit. "Do you even know how the inventory works?"

"Um." He used to. Sort of. Kat made him check the stock once, but that was a long time ago... "Um, maybe?"

"Staffing? Paychecks? Special events?"

"Um." Jon drags a hand through his hair, tugs hard.

"Thought so." Ryan smirks and shakes his head, sighing with quiet exasperation. "Of course I'm not going anywhere, I'm the store manager. You need me to keep this place functional."

Jon wants to argue, except everything Ryan's said is one hundred and ten percent true. He has absolutely no fucking clue what he's doing.

"Okay," he replies slowly. "Okay, then." He sighs, spreads his hands. "Teach me everything you know and I'll give you a raise?"

The smirk actually changes into an honest smile. "I accept."

They shake hands on it.

"But don't you graduate in May?" Jon asks before he lets go of Ryan's hand.

"Dude." Ryan rolls his eyes. "Grad school. Duh. I'm stuck with you for at least another three years."

~

Jon learns that Kat had three people on staff, not including Ryan: one is a retired school teacher named Annette who works in the mornings on Tuesdays and Fridays; one is a college freshman named Carl, who Jon thinks is just a tad bit terrified of Ryan; and the third one is Gerard Way.

"Seriously?" Jon asks as he looks over Kats handwritten payroll logs. "She seriously put him on staff?"

Ryan shrugs. "He's in the store all time as it is. She figured he might as well earn some extra cash on the side."

Gerard has lived in the loft upstairs for years, at least since the summer before Jon left for college. An adjunct art professor at the local university, he spends his time off sitting in the back corner of in the ratty old armchair with the paisley print that Kat bought at a thrift store, reading through the pulp magazines she managed to buy off an old guy who was a hoarder of all things The Shadow. He also makes his students buy all their text books here; Kat made it a point to start keeping the heavy, odd-shaped art history coffee table books in stock just for Gerard, and she always gave his students a discount. In the last couple of years, Kat had taken to allowing him to hang his own artwork in the store, even though, as she'd told Jon, "It's a little too Tim Burton-ish for my taste."

Gerard rarely speaks to Jon, but he was at the funeral, and the two of them had nodded their condolences to one another.

"Does he - what does he do?" Not that Jon's going to fire him or anything. He's genuinely curious.

"He...well, he talked Kat into having a comic book section, which has been fairly popular, since she refused to mark anything up regardless of rarity." Ryan clears his throat and adds, "He keeps it in impeccable condition."

Jon gets the feeling Ryan doesn't interfere with Gerard's "job duties," and Jon doesn't really plan to, either, but he at least wants to establish some kind of rapport with him.

He finds Gerard in the usual spot - sitting in the same paisley armchair, the lamp beside it dark and unused, chewing his thumb as he takes notes out of some obscenely large book on Goya, which takes up every square inch of his lap. There's an issue of The Green Goblin lying on the floor beside the chair, open to the back page, along with a half-empty bottle of Pepsi.

Jon walks up to him slowly and says, "Hey." He shoves his hands in his pockets and smiles brightly, even though it takes a good thirty seconds before Gerard looks up. "Ah, making lesson plans?"

Gerard shakes the hair out of his eyes, and while he doesn't exactly smile back, he still nods. "Yeah, this thing just came in the other day and it's massive." He pats the book in his lap. "I've never seen so much shit on Goya in one place in my life, it's awesome."

Jon bobs his head like that makes sense and he actually knows who the hell Goya is. "Cool. Uh." He scrapes the toe of his left flip-flop over the dusty wood floor. "I haven't gotten a chance to come over and say anything to you since - y'know, Kat left - " He winces a little, both at his poor choice of verbs and the small, painful tug in his heart. " - and I just wanted to. Um. Say hi. And to tell you to let me know if you need anything."

An awkward silence follows, but eventually Gerard puts his pen down and smiles tentatively. "Thanks. Kat was a wonderful woman, but you probably already know that." He sighs, suddenly looking sad. "I mean, I know what it's like to lose a grandma you love, so." He nods again. "Just don't fuck the place up, or you and I will have words."

Jon laughs. "You and Ryan both." He gives Gerard a small salute and starts to walk away.

"Ah, hey, one quick question..."

He stops, looks over his shoulder at Gerard. "Yeah?"

If Jon didn't know better, he'd swear Gerard was fidgeting. "Do you, uh, know if Kat had a business account at Kinko's? Y'know, for copies and shit?"

Jon blinks. "I have no idea?" From the state of Kat's office, he'd say Kat never used a copy machine in her life. "You think we should get one?"

Gerard turns kind of pink, which utterly confuses Jon, because what the hell's so embarrassing about copy paper? "I don't know, maybe. You never know. And Kat wasn't too terribly into getting on the technology bus or anything." He shrugs and goes back to taking notes, hiding behind his dark hair. "Just something to think about. I, um, know someone I can probably talk to if you're interested."

"Yeah, I'll consider it." He waits for Gerard to say more, but he just keeps scribbling in his notebook. His cheeks are still really pink, though.

~

Ryan has a best friend named Spencer who manages to be at the store nearly every day Ryan is scheduled to work. Jon doesn't really know anything about him, except that he's in his junior year of college, is majoring in Business, and plays drums once in a while in some band (Jon doesn't eavesdrop, it's just that the store is really quiet sometimes).

Jon doesn't have a problem with him hanging around the store, it's just that he's. Well. Bossy.

"Did you even bother to have the small business license changed over to your name?" Spencer asks him one day while Jon's trying to shelve a new stock of World War II biographies (Ryan swears they're bestsellers and vital to inventory). He slumps against the bookcase and cocks his hips to the side. Jon thinks guys really shouldn't be able to do that with their hips.

"Of course I did," Jon says quickly, even though he really has no idea. But his mom assured him a week or so ago that everything was taken care of, so. He figures "everything" also encompasses business licenses. "Besides, Ryan was basically in charge for months before I took over. I don't think it really matters."

"It matters when the Better Business Bureau comes knocking on your door and demands to see paperwork," Spencer replies, and the tone of his voice definitely implies that he thinks Jon's a moron.

Jon wonders if Spencer talks like this to Ryan, then thinks it wouldn't matter if he did; Ryan would just ignore him.

He gets really tired of the constant nagging about his nonexistent business habits, and he comes very close to saying something snippy to Spencer, until the day Spencer wanders into his office, arms crossed, and says, "You should put in a coffee bar."

Jon's glad he didn't come in ten minutes earlier; at least now he looks busy with his Excel spreadsheet pulled up, not swearing at the TV screen as he plays another round of Grand Theft Auto (he replaced the Super Nintendo with his Playstation). He sighs wearily and spins around in his chair to face Spencer. "A coffee bar?"

"Yes. A coffee bar. I think it would be good for business, and there's not a Starbucks within ten blocks of here. You could totally corner the market."

"Did you tell Ryan about this idea?"

Spencer raises an eyebrow. "No. Does he own the place?"

Jon considers himself a bright guy, but with Spencer, he feels like he's incredibly ignorant. "I don't think - we don't have the space."

"Sure you do, just take out the mystery section by the front entryway. It doesn't have to be anything fancy, just a counter and a couple of cappuccino machines."

He starts to say something like Wow, you've really thought this out, but he doesn't want to give Spencer more opportunities to be smug. Jon scrubs a hand through his beard and says, "Okay, I'll think about it. I'll have to do some research - "

"Please. Like people don't like coffee with their books. Use your brain, Walker." Spencer holds his hand up and starts ticking points off. "Get a couple Krups cappuccino makers at Bed Bath & Beyond, go to Home Depot and get some lumber and maybe some cheap tile, and then swing by Costco for a shitload of coffee beans." He sweeps his hand out. "Voila, instant coffee bar."

Jon blinks at him. "Um." Damn it, he really has thought this through. "I, uh...don't have a Costco card."

"Then get one, and make sure it's a business account. And did I mention all of this is tax deductible?"

~

Jon rarely sees Ryan get upset about things, but when he mentions taking out the mystery section to make room for the coffee bar, Ryan's face goes white, then immediately purple. Jon quickly suggests they swap out all the Nora Roberts paperbacks instead, and Ryan's color goes back to normal.

He doesn't end up building anything; Jon may not be a businessman, but he's definitely not a fucking carpenter. What he ends up with is a small kitchen island with a wooden top and open shelves underneath; it was expensive as hell, but well worth the money if it keeps Jon from having to saw shit. The island takes up more room than he originally intended, but looks good, especially with the stainless steel cappuccino machines Spencer picked out (Ryan picked out the kitchen island - Jon just paid for it all) and the small set of oversized, Friends-style coffee mugs. They buy a few bottles of flavored syrup at a specialty store and some homemade scones at the local bakery (Jon offers to give them free advertising, which gets him a huge discount and an approving nod from Spencer). Then there's the side trip back to Costco to buy a mini fridge and a few gallons of skim milk.

Everything is set up and nearly ready to go (dishes will have to be done in the tiny bathroom sink until Jon can think up something better), when it occurs to Jon that he has no clue how to make espresso drinks.

Ryan disappears into the stacks and emerges five minutes later with a worn copy of Coffee for Dummies. Jon sits in his office for the next hour and a half, reading each chapter carefully.

Then he smells the distinct aroma of ground coffee, followed by the hiss of the steamer.

Jon comes out of the office to find Gerard behind the counter, handing over a full, steaming, foam-and-all cup to a woman who smiles happily and hands him a five.

Gerard looks up, finds Jon staring at him with his mouth slightly open, and smiles sheepishly. "I, um, charged her three-fifty, is that okay?"

"Uh - yeah." He looks over at the register, where Ryan and Spencer are watching Gerard with mild fascination. "Yeah, that's okay."

"Awesome." He smiles at Jon and holds up the woman's five. "Can I get some change? And dude, not everyone likes scones, you should really consider a variety."

Spencer's already out the door to the bakery as Ryan breaks Gerard's five.

Jon makes over a hundred dollars from the coffee bar alone that day. They run out of mugs and coffee and banana bread (Jon agrees with Gerard - way better than scones), and Jon could not be happier.

Spencer is infinitely smug, but Jon lets it go.

~

A few weeks later, Jon figures out Gerard's weird interest in Kinko's, and it's kind of hilarious.

This guy, this tiny, tiny guy covered in tattoos, with a buzz cut, a lip ring, and wearing a blue Kinko's polo, comes through the front door of the store, takes one look at the coffee bar (and Gerard standing behind it, sketchbook out on the counter) and announces gleefully, "Gee! You weren't lying!" He grins at Gerard, who laughs a little and goes a familiar shade of pink.

Jon leans back in his chair behind the register and tries not to smile.

"Dude, I swear to god, having coffee next door is gonna save my life," Frank says, collapsing melodramatically against the counter. "Can I just tell you how I like it and you'll just have it ready for me every morning?"

Gerard goes from pink to light red, and it's so, so hard for Jon not to snort. He keeps waiting for Gerard to shoot him a Look of Death, but he's very carefully not looking in Jon's general direction. "I, um, have office hours in the morning, usually? I don't get in until around two or three," he replies, fidgeting with his sketchbook until he finally slides it off the counter.

"Hey, wait." Frank lunges and grabs the sketchbook out of his hand. "You did these?"

Jon holds his breath, waits for the inevitable defensive mumbling about side projects and art being a private endeavor until completion.

But Gerard just smiles shyly and says, "Yeah, they're mine."

"Awesome stuff, man, you should totally hang these up here or something."

"Already done," Jon pipes up, and Gerard blinks at him for a second like he completely forgot Jon was in the room. He finally gives him a Look of Death, with an added Please Don't Embarrass Me Here or I Will Make Your Life Miserable glare. Jon makes sure he looks painfully sincere when he adds, gesturing at the walls, "Take a look. My grandmother was a big fan of Gerard's."

This makes Gerard go a darker shade of red, and Jon's not really sure if it's from his comment or Frank's eyes flaring as he says, "I knew I should've come in here more often," before walking up to the closest framed ink drawing on the wall (Jon thinks it's a bat; Ryan swears it's a girl with her hair blowing in the wind).

Frank oohs and aahs over Gerard's art a little more, and then he's leaving as abruptly as he arrived. "Shit, my break's over," he says, glancing at his watch. He points a finger at Gerard as he backs out the door. "I'm gonna be back for that coffee later. No foam, and do you have any cinnamon? If not, forget it, just no foam." Then he truly does beam at Gerard - it's the only way Jon can describe the smile he gives him, something brilliant and filled with puppies and sunshine. Frank disappears around the corner, and when Jon looks over at the counter, Gerard has one hand pressed to his forehead, tugging at his hair.

He opens his mouth, possibly to say something reassuring, like the fact that he so totally does not fault Gerard for turning into a thirteen-year-old girl over a smile like that, when Gerard says, slowly, "One word out of you, Walker, and I swear to Christ, it will be your last."

Jon shuts his mouth and grins.

~

"Ryan says you were going to be a photographer."

Jon sighs. He's sitting on the floor of Kat's office, buried in a mountain of hardcovers Ryan picked up from the public library's book sale yesterday, and he's nearly cross-eyed from having to sort and price for the past two hours. He stretches his legs, rubs a hand over his eyes. "I am a photographer."

Spencer slumps against the doorway. "No, I mean, Ryan told me you majored in, like, Photography in school. You were going maybe open your own studio before Kat died."

It's not exactly true - he'd been considering opening his own studio, but he was getting enough freelance work that the thought of starting his own business seemed like too much of a hassle.

The irony of it all is definitely not lost on Jon. It's really goddamn funny, actually.

"You must've really loved her to give up your dream like that," Spencer continues, softly.

Jon throws the James Patterson novel in his hand over into the "fiction" pile by the couch. It hits the floor with a loud smack.

"Okay, first of all?" He glares at Spencer, feeling his jaw tighten. "I'm pretty sure I never said anything about my dreams, so stop making assumptions about what I did and didn't give up when I took over this place. Second? If you're gonna hang around here so damn much, do some fucking shelving or something." He pitches another book at the pile, hard, and his heart is pounding; his camera has been sitting in its case, untouched, for almost two months now.

Spencer is quiet for several long, awkward moments. Jon doesn't look at him, just keeps sorting books and listening to the way the impact of hard cover on cover echoes through the office.

"I was just curious," Spencer finally says, and if Jon didn't know better, he'd say Spencer sounded hurt. But Spencer Smith doesn't seem like the kind of guy to get his feelings hurt, and certainly not over something Jon would ever say.

Jon snorts at the thought, smirking to himself, and when he glances up a minute later, Spencer's gone.

~

They simply cannot have a coffee bar without music; Jon can't figure out why Kat didn't at least have a CD player of some sort sitting up front. But he wants more than a rinky-dink boom box; he wants something that will give him surround sound (Jon, when it comes right down to it, is a sound system whore).

"Go talk to Patrick next door," Ryan says without looking up from the copy of Anna Karenina he has spread out over the counter by the register. He waves his hand in the direction of the music store next door. "He'll probably give you a good deal if you advertise for them."

It's a really obvious idea, and Jon feels dumb for having not thought of it sooner. (He's also very, very conscious of the fact that Spencer has not been by the store in three days. He keeps waiting for Ryan to mention it, possibly even chew him out, but he never does.)

Patrick co-owns Conceptual Sounds; even though the store itself has been there for years, this incarnation of it has only been in operation for two. Jon hasn't been in since it changed, and he's kind of amazed at how neat and tidy the place is. Sample speakers line the walls, and something that sounds suspiciously like Muse is playing.

Jon loves the place instantly. And of course, Patrick loved Kat.

"Dude, yeah, when Brendon and I first rented the place and started setting up shop, she came over and brought us lunch, like, for a whole week. She was awesome." Patrick frowns in sympathy. "I'm sorry she's gone."

Jon exhales quickly and grins. "Well, then she'd probably love it if you gave me really good deal." He tells Patrick the details of what he wants, and Patrick takes a few notes, nodding along with him.

"That's totally doable, and it won't break you or anything." He gives Jon a rough estimate (Jon breathes a sigh of relief). "I can be over tomorrow sometime for installation?"

Jon thinks of his massive CD collection and the constant silence of the store. "How does ten o'clock sound?"

~

Ryan leaves the store an hour before closing that night. He taps his keys on the door of the office and says, "I'm going home."

"'Kay, I'll be up there in a sec." Jon yawns and pulls up the spreadsheet for the day's totals. He considers, just for a second, crashing on the couch instead of driving home. He's exhausted and hasn't slept well in days.

Then Ryan says, totally calm, "You're a fucking idiot."

Jon blinks. "What?"

"You heard me. 'Night." He waves over his shoulder as he turns to leave.

Jon is still staring at the empty doorway long after the front door closes.

~

Gerard, it seems, has been drumming up business.

He shows up the next day around noon with a fellow professor in tow. Pete is an English professor who teaches what he calls "Neo-Modern Fiction." Jon has absolutely no idea what this even means, but he's pretty sure it involves Chuck Palahniuk novels and papers written in the second person.

"Gee says you give discounts to school faculty?" Pete asks, hopping onto the register counter like he's been in the store a million times. Ryan's been staring kind of wide-eyed at Pete ever since he walked through the door, pointed a finger at him, and said, "I've had you in class - it's Ross, right?" It's the first time Jon has ever seen Ryan stutter.

Jon shrugs. "Yeah, I guess so." He hasn't really thought about a blanket discount, but figures it can't hurt to get a reputation on the campus.

"Awesome, then we're in business." Pete looks over at Ryan. "Wanna direct me to your Neil Gaiman section, Ross?"

Ryan nods - mutely, Jon notices - and points to the far end of the store. Pete winks at him and hops off the counter.

"Let me guess," Jon drawls, folding his arms on the coffee bar and smirking at Ryan. "You totally aced his class and thought it was the best ever."

Ryan bites his lip, cranes his neck to make sure Pete's out of earshot, then whispers, "No, I got a C in his class. But he's - that guy's amazing. He writes the craziest shit sometimes, but it's brilliant."

Jon rolls his eyes just as Gerard says, "Uh, you're having speakers put in?" He motions to the wires running along the floor.

"Yeah, Patrick's installing them right now." He grins and bounces on the balls of his feet. "Music, Gerard, blessed music."

It's Gerard's turn to roll his eyes, but he's smiling. "I want to say Kat would be horrified, but then again, she'd probably dig the whole coffee bar thing, so I'll let it go."

Jon laughs and starts to ask if Gerard wants to take over said coffee bar (Jon's slowly learned how to make a kick-ass cappuccino, and without the help of a damn book, which he's ridiculously proud of), when Patrick wanders up, speaker under one arm and his sheet of the store's specs in hand, squinting at his handwriting.

"Hey, Jon, I just have a quick question about the back half of the store," he says, not looking up from the sheet. "Did you still want to put the - "

"Whoa!"

Everyone pauses at Pete's obnoxiously loud exclamation.

Jon looks up, raises an eyebrow. "What?"

But Pete's pointing at Patrick. "Does he work here?" Like Patrick's not standing ten feet in front of him.

Patrick finally looks up from his notes, looks from Jon to Pete, and replies, slowly, "Um...no?"

It's kind of amazing just how freakishly fast Pete is suddenly at Patrick's side, grinning like he's won the lottery. "No? You don't know? Because I want you to say yes, you do, and yes, you're here every day so that when I come back to pick out my course texts you'll be able to cater to my every used book desire."

Patrick stares at him. "Um?"

Gerard sighs. "Ignore him, he's having a caffeine seizure at the moment."

"Ignore him, he doesn't know love at first sight." Pete scrinches his nose at Gerard and holds his hand out to Patrick. "I'm Pete. Please have an awesome first name that's not something soul-crushing, like Harold."

Patrick opens his mouth, then shuts it, only to open it again in slow motion and say, "It's...Patrick." He looks down at Pete's hand like he's utterly perplexed by it.

"Mmmm, Patrick. Complete opposite of soul-crushing, awesome." Pete folds Patrick's hand in his, seemingly oblivious to Patrick's slight deer-in-the-headlights stare. "Even if you don't really work here, you're here now, which means this is my new favorite place." He suddenly drops his hand and snaps his fingers. "Where do you work? 'Cause they're letting you off early, because you're coming to lunch with me. Right now."

Jon is torn between wanting to break into hysterical laughter and come to Patrick's rescue. Gerard stands just behind Pete, shaking his head in exasperation.

"I...am kind of busy at the mo - "

"No, you're not." Jon leans over the counter, takes the speaker from him. "You need to take a lunch anyway, right?"

"Um." Patrick can't stop blinking.

"Excellent, c'mon, I'm going to introduce you to the best sandwiches on Earth." It's not so much that Pete drags Patrick out of the store as it is Patrick simply being caught in his wake, letting inertia pull him along.

~

The live music idea is totally Frank's.

He's patiently watching Gerard make his no-foam latte with extra cinnamon (it's just after nine in the morning - Jon thinks maybe, maybe Gerard switched his office hours to the afternoons so that he could make Frank's coffee every morning, but he's not about to ask) and says, "You guys don't have live music nights, do you?"

Gerard sort of pauses mid-pour and looks over at Jon. "Um. Not really."

Jon sets the stack of cookbooks in his hands by the register and surveys the floor space. "We don't really have the room," he replies, but the wheels are suddenly turning in his head.

"Dude, seriously, you should consider it, even it's just an open mic night. I know lots of people who bitch about there not being enough live entertainment on this side of town, and this place is cool enough that I think you guys could pull it off easily." He grins at Gerard, who carefully hands him his coffee mug while simultaneously giving Jon a slightly pleading look, like he'll do anything to keep the store cool if it means more Frank time.

Jon considers the amount of space (they'll have to move the "Just In" shelf on performance nights, but it's doable) and the (insanely successful) coffee bar and the newly installed sound system (now currently playing Arctic Monkeys) and thinks We are totally cool enough to pull it off.

"Yeah," he replies, nodding, planning another trip to see Patrick for some microphone stands. "Yeah, that's an awesome idea, wow. Thanks."

"No problem," Frank says into his mug. "And for the record, this has officially become my favorite bookstore ever."

~

Not only does Patrick cut Jon a deal on the microphones, he gives him musician referrals, if one can call Patrick shyly commenting on the fact that he and Brendon both do gigs around town and neither one of them have been booked recently a referral.

"You both sing?" Jon asks.

Patrick nods eagerly, like he doesn't get to talk about it much. "Brendon and I do gigs together and sometimes solo. He plays piano and guitar, I just do guitar. We've been trying to start up a band, but..." He sighs, motions to the store around them. "Running a business kind of kills all your free time to be rock stars, y'know?"

God, does he know. Well, not the rock star part, but still.

"I was thinking of setting something up for Saturday night, maybe? Nothing fancy, just to test the waters and see if this whole thing's gonna be a spectacular failure." He says it with a smile, but Jon really doesn't want to be The Bookstore Guy Who Tried to Be Cool and Wasn't.

"I, um." Patrick fidgets for a second, going a bit pink around his ears. "I sort of have a date on Saturday night? But I know Brendon's free, and he'll totally be up for it. But don't feed him coffee, god - you'll never get him to leave."

Jon grins. "Awesome, just have him call me and we'll go from there." And then, because he feels like being evil, he adds, casually, "Pete taking you somewhere special?"

Patrick drums his fingers on the counter and clears his throat loudly. "That's none of - " He stops, sighs. "It's a seafood restaurant. I think they have a giant barracuda in a tank? Barracudas are not special, so I'm thinking, um, no."

Jon didn't think it was possible for someone to blush redder than Gerard, but evidently he was completely wrong.

~

At 7:57 on Friday morning, Jon shows up to open the store and finds Spencer sitting on the front steps, bundled up in his coat and curled into a tight ball, knees drawn to his chest.

"Jesus Christ, it's fucking freezing out," Jon says irritably, ignoring the surge in his chest. He hasn't seen Spencer in over two weeks.

Spencer looks up, shakes the hair out of his eyes. "I wanted to make sure I caught you," he replies, getting to his feet. He says his words carefully, as if he's been rehearsing them.

"I'm here all day, you know that." Jon winces internally as he digs out his keys; he doesn't mean to sound so sharp. He unlocks the front door, holds it open and ushers Spencer in.

"Ryan says you're planning a live music night tomorrow?" Spencer leans back against the coffee bar, hands stuffed in his coat pockets. He's looking at the floor and not at Jon.

"Yeah, Brendon, the guy who co-owns the music store next door, is gonna play." Jon really needs to go back to the office and get the register drawer out of the safe so that he can officially open the store, but Spencer doesn't look like he wants to move at all. He figures the store can stay closed another ten minutes; his Friday morning regulars (i.e. the pair of middle-aged ladies needing their weekly Danielle Steele fix) can wait.

Spencer actually raises an eyebrow at the mention of Brendon's name. "You mean Brendon Urie?" He gives a small sound of amusement when Jon nods. "Does Ryan know he's playing?"

"I think so."

He suddenly laughs, and it startles Jon, because he hasn't heard Spencer's laugh in a really long time and it's - it sounds nice. "Oh man, he must be freaking if he didn't even mention it to me." Laughter seems to relax his shoulders, let the tension out of his stance, and Jon, somehow, has really, really missed him. "Brendon played this house party a couple years ago, and Ryan thought he was the shit. Thing is, when Ryan went to introduce himself, Brendon sort of blew him off." Spencer shrugs. "I don't know, I wasn't there, that's only the version I got from Ryan. But, god, when Ryan found out Brendon was Patrick's partner after they bought the space next door...it was priceless." His grin is a little devious, and it makes Jon laugh as well.

"So, you think Ryan's going to spaz out on Saturday?" he asks.

"Quite possibly, which means I'm so going to be there for a front row seat." Then his smile fades a little. "Um, speaking of me being in the store..."

Jon swallows, reaches over without thinking and lays a hand on Spencer's arm. "Hey, I'm sorry, okay? I was a dick, and I shouldn't have taken my stress out on you like that. You're more than welcome to hang out here."

Spencer glances down at Jon's hand and then back up. "You were a dick, but a justifiable dick." He takes a deep breath. "Look, I came by to tell you I'm sorry. I don't have any right to talk about your personal shit, and I should know that. It's just - Ryan tells me things about you and I - " Spencer bites his lip, and Jon thinks there's a "get curious" in there somewhere. "Anyway, I also wanted to, ah. Ask if you'll hire me. That way I'll actually have a real reason to be around the store and not just someone who's in the way all the time." He laughs again, but Jon doesn't think he means to.

"You're not in the way, I swear." Jon realizes, a bit late, that he's yet to drop his hand from Spencer's arm. He promptly does so and takes a step back.

"Is that a no? You won't hire me?" He looks so anxious, Jon has no choice but to smile.

"You can split coffee duty with Gerard," he replies, and there's another weird surge in his chest when he sees Spencer melt in relief. "Deal?"

Spencer smiles back, and wow, okay, Frank doesn't really have the market cornered on sunshine-and-puppies smiles. Since when did Spencer start smiling like that, anyway? "Deal." He sticks his hand out and they shake on it. "Um, can I just start now?"

"Sure, but at nine you'll have to fight Gerard for Frank's coffee. Word of advice - lose."

~

Brendon is scheduled to play at eight o'clock Saturday night. He gets to the store at seven-thirty with nothing but his keyboard.

"I...thought you were singing?" Jon says with only a hint of trepidation. He's having horrible flashes of the episode of Friends where Ross played his keyboard at Central Perk and traumatized everyone. Granted, Patrick did tell him Brendon was a piano player, but the keyboard doesn't look all that fancy, and Jon's maybe starting to panic a little.

Brendon shakes his head sadly and points at his throat. "I'm getting a cold and I seriously sound like shit right now," he says. "But no worries, I'll make up for it, promise." He unfolds his keyboard stand and sets up in the small area facing the front door, nodding at Spencer, who's manning the coffee bar while Gerard's off at some comic book signing thing ("Inventory, man, I'll probably bring back loads of great stuff," he'd told Jon earlier that day, and Jon really wanted to tell him he didn't need to make excuses for wanting to be a geek).

"Hey, where's Ryan?" he asks, and Spencer sort of smirks and glances at Jon. They both know Ryan very indiscreetly glared and took off for the back of the store the second Brendon walked in the door, but Jon's not going to be the one to tell him that. He wonders how bad a brush-off you have to give Ryan in order to completely make him hate your guts.

"Um, he's - around." Spencer fidgets with the dials on the cappuccino machine and tries unsuccessfully not to smirk.

Jon thinks he hears Brendon lean over and ask softly, "Did he ever get my message?", but he can't be sure; he's already down the non-fiction aisle and turning the corner into Gerard's comic section, where Ryan's curled up in the armchair, reading The Stand.

"Hi, you're still on the clock, by the way," Jon says, nudging Ryan's elbow.

Ryan waves him off. "I'm on lunch."

"At eight o'clock at night?"

"Late lunch."

Jon rolls his eyes. "Dude, whatever beef you've got with Brendon, it can't be all that - "

Ryan's eyes snap up and fix Jon with a rather scary glare. "You don't know the details, so drop it, please," he replies, and each word is clearly defined and sharp around the edges.

Jon has a comment ready on how Ryan can take his pouty girl ass home, but in the next moment the store is filled with the sounds of a piano, a real piano playing something classical.

It can't possibly be that scrawny keyboard, but unless Brendon also hauled in a baby grand, there's no other explanation.

Jon and Ryan blink at one another for a second, and then Ryan's grumbling something under his breath and ducking back down into his book. It's dark in this back corner, but Jon swears he can see a pink tinge to Ryan's cheeks.

When Jon makes his way back to the front, a small group of customers are gathered around Brendon, and he notices people outside pausing at the window to glance in, to see where the gorgeous music is coming from.

Brendon finishes with a flourish and the whole store erupts in applause. He catches Jon's eye and says, loudly, "Chopin's not a party starter, but I hope it's still okay?"

Jon gives him two thumbs up. Brendon grins.

It was supposed to be an hour set, since the store closes at nine. But the crowd gets bigger, and Brendon starts taking requests at around nine-fifteen, and pretty soon it's almost ten and the store hasn't even begun to clear out.

Ryan tries to show his face at ten-thirty ("Someone needs to start counting the drawer down," he says matter-of-factly to Jon, his back to Brendon) and Brendon immediately says, "Ryan!" and starts playing the theme from Cheers for some reason.

Ryan takes the drawer out of the register and marches back to the office without a word.

Spencer smirks.

The last person gets (politely) kicked out fifteen minutes later, and once Jon has the door closed and locked, he says, "Okay. So. I'm a bit in shock, but I'd say music night was a roaring success." He points a finger at Brendon. "I don't care if Ryan hates you, you're amazing and I want to book you for the next ten million years, okay?"

Brendon's in the process of packing up his keyboard, but he freezes, face falling. "Ryan hates me?"

"Ryan doesn't hate you," Spencer replies, like he's stating the obvious. "He just hates the fact that he wants to get in your pants, is all."

Jon's really glad he's not drinking coffee at the moment, or he'd be choking.

Brendon's eyes go wide. "Really? I always thought - he never returned my calls - "

"I'm thinking he confused 'surrounded by people and really occupied' with 'blow off'. Ryan's kind of obtuse sometimes," Spencer says dryly.

It may or may not be a coincidence that Ryan chooses that moment to come out of the office in his coat and scarf, tugging his hat down low over his eyes. He mumbles something that sounds like "g'night" and aims a very pointed glare at Spencer, who purses his lips and doesn't flinch at all.

But before Ryan can make a complete escape, Brendon calls out, "I didn't blow you off, okay? It was just bad timing."

Ryan pauses with his hand on the doorknob.

"God, if I'd known you'd been avoiding me this whole time because of some stupid gig I played forever ago, I would've said something sooner." Brendon sounds incredibly earnest; Jon doesn't really know if it's enough. Ryan tends to be impervious to earnestness.

Ryan takes a deep breath, shoulders expanding and contracting, and just as Jon thinks maybe he's about to be proven wrong, he looks back over his shoulder at Spencer and hisses, "I am not obtuse."

The way Brendon visibly deflates as Ryan storms out the door is probably one of the saddest things Jon's ever seen.

~

The Christmas cards start arriving the third day in November, addressed to Kat Walker & Between the Lines Books. Each time one comes in the mail, Jon holds the envelope in his hand, runs the tips of his fingers over her name, and then sticks it in the top drawer of his desk, unopened.

A few weeks later, Gerard mentions something to Jon about getting the decorations out, and Jon sort of nods vaguely and wishes he didn't have so many memories of hanging slightly dusty garland threaded with rumpled red velvet ribbon from the bookcases. Kat used the same garland until Jon left for college, and even then it was at his grandfather's insistence that she throw it out. He can't quite remember what the new garland looks like.

"Yeah, you go ahead," Jon says to Gerard, rubbing a hand over his eyes. He also can't remember a good night's sleep. "I'm taking the rest of the day off. Call my cell if you need anything."

He goes home and tries to sleep, but his brain won't turn off; it's always a constant series of bills and inventory and paychecks and whether or not the coffee bar needs more skim milk.

His doorbell rings just after five, and Jon is still in his blue plaid pajama pants and long-sleeved gray t-shirt, hair a bit rumpled, looking like he never even made it out of bed today, let alone went into work for the morning. He opens the door as he yawns, and is suddenly face to face with Spencer.

"Are you sick?" Spencer asks. He doesn't exactly look worried, but there's something lurking in his eyes that hints at concern. He's holding a Styrofoam cup wrapped in plastic wrap.

Jon shakes his head. "No, just trying to catch up on sleep." He leans against the door, watches Spencer chew his lower lip and basically look uncomfortable. "Did you need something?"

"Ryan wanted to know if we could buy more Christmas lights." Spencer keeps turning the cup in his hands.

"And he couldn't call me himself?"

Spencer huffs. "No, he - look." He finally holds out the cup to Jon. "I thought you were sick, so I stopped at that deli down the street and got you some of that homemade chicken noodle soup. But you're not sick, so, um." He shrugs, fidgeting his way from uncomfortable to embarrassed. "Anyway, I'm gonna go back to the store now. Gerard had to go teach a class and Ryan's there all by himself, and god only knows what kind of lattes he's making."

Jon is still stuck back at the part where Spencer brought him soup. "Uh, thank you?"

Spencer shrugs again. He hasn't looked Jon in the eye once. "It's not a big deal. Can we get the extra lights?"

"Yeah, sure." The soup cup is warm in Jon's hand; he wonders if Spencer carried it here himself, or if he drove his car.

"Okay. I'll...see you tomorrow."

"Okay."

The corner of Spencer's mouth tilts up a fraction, but he ducks his head and leaves Jon standing in the doorway without saying goodbye.

~

Kat always threw a Christmas party for all of her best customers. She had invitations made and served champagne with hors d'oeuvres and put everything in the store fifty percent off for one night only, usually a few days before Christmas.

Jon remembers all this a week before Christmas. He totally blames Ryan and Gerard for not reminding him; instead, it's little Mrs. Danforth, who comes in every Saturday to peruse The Cat Who... selection.

"You are having the Christmas party, right?" she asks, hands folded neatly over her cane as she stares up at Jon through her double bifocals. "I haven't received my invite yet, Jonathan." She's the only regular who calls him by his first name. His entire first name. Jon really feels like he's in deep shit.

"Oh, of course we're having it," he replies hastily, giving Gerard a look of loathing (he holds out his hands, mouthing "I forgot!"). "There was, um, a problem with the mail, and all the invitations got mixed up. You should be getting yours soon." He nods with every word, as if agreeing with himself will somehow make everything magically happen.

Mrs. Danforth smiles. "Wonderful, I'd hate to see Kat's party fall by the wayside."

Jon mentally cringes. Six months in, and he still doesn't know what the hell he's doing.

He sends Gerard upstairs (i.e. home), tells him to spend the rest of the day designing an invitation worthy of Mrs. Danforth and also a flyer to put up around the block. This, of course, requires copies to be made, which means a lengthy trip to Kinko's. Gerard is more excited that he normally would be over the thought of drawing Santas and reindeer.

Jon calls Brendon, begs him and Patrick to play last minute. "It's just Christmas songs, that's all."

"Dude, we'll do it, we love doing Christmas songs, oh my god." Brendon sounds beside himself with glee. "You can pay us in gingerbread and eggnog."

He goes the eggnog route, actually, instead of champagne (read: cheap and bought more easily in bulk). Annette, the part-time retired school teacher, offers to bake snickerdoodles and pumpkin bread. And Patrick mentions something about Pete bringing his "famous" sugar cookies, which could literally mean anything.

Luckily, the store is already decorated to the hilt, thanks to Ryan and Gerard insisting that Kat would want the walls covered in lights and tinsel (Jon doesn't remember there being this many lights, but whatever). Everything's ready to go when five o'clock rolls around the day of the party; the table full of hors d'oeuvres is set (complete with a gigantic punch bowl full of eggnog), the 50% discount signs are clearly marked, and Brendon and Patrick are warming up, Patrick humming the chorus of "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" as he tunes his guitar.

He doesn't think they're missing anything until Frank bursts through the door, exclaims, "Awesome, I'm not late!", and holds up a sprig of green.

"I brought mistletoe!" he says, grinning. "Since, y'know, I just got off work and can't bake for shit."

Gerard had invited the entire Kinko's staff, because inviting Frank alone would've caused way too much angst and anxiety on Gerard's part, even though it's obvious to everyone in the room when Frank slaps the thing above the door with a piece of duct tape (which Jon promptly changes to clear Scotch tape later - he doesn't want Kat's ghost haunting him) that's it's more of an incentive to get Gerard to kiss him than anything else. Gerard, however, seems utterly oblivious and just stays behind the coffee bar, blushing and trying to be inconspicuous with his smiles.

Frank brings another co-worker, Joe, whom Jon suspects is high and has weed on him at this very moment. Under normal circumstances this wouldn't concern Jon in the slightest, but he can't have pot and Mrs. Danforth in the same room with Annette's pumpkin bread. Kat's ghost really will fucking track him down.

"Dude," Jon whispers to Frank. "He can't have weed in here."

Frank pats his shoulder. "Don't worry, he's got plenty to go around." Jon dies a little inside.

And then, during Patrick's first chorus of "Happy Xmas," Jon catches Pete spiking the eggnog.

"I have eighty-year-old ladies in here, for fuck's sake," he moans, staring dejectedly at the huge punch bowl now laced with Southern Comfort.

Pete beams. "Where the hell do you think I got the recipe from? My grandma is badass."

Jon's pretty sure his grandmother's ghost will kick Pete's grandma's ass.

So now he's got the scent of pot floating lightly through the air and a punch bowl full of eggnog and whiskey. Thank god said little old ladies are smiling at Patrick and Brendon with happy approval in their eyes. Jon figures it has to be better than a Christmas CD on repeat.

The next few hours go...relatively well. Yes, he starts to get a buzz off the eggnog (and, okay, he did sneak into the back with Joe for a quick hit, but it wasn't anything serious, and Mrs. Danforth had already left for the evening), and yes, Pete drags Patrick away from the mic mid-song to kiss him soundly underneath the taped mistletoe (Brendon finishes the rest of "Last Christmas" with a huge grin), and yes, they run out of cookies. But he manages to make plenty of sales (Frank discovers Gerard's comic section and literally swoons) and everyone seems happy and contented and full of stereotypical holiday cheer.

Then, at one point in the night, when Brendon's got the whole store chiming in on a rousing rendition of "I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas," Annette takes Jon aside and says, fondly, "I've got something I've been meaning to give you."

She leads him back to the office, rummaging around in her purse for a moment before pulling out a worn, yellowed photograph. "I found this the other night while going through some old boxes. I thought you should probably have it." She gives him the photograph, and Jon holds it flat in his hands.

He can't be more than three years old, sitting on the counter by the register - the store is unmistakable, since it hasn't changed in years. Kat has her arm around him, pulling him close into a hug. She's wearing a Santa hat, and the puffy, white ball at the end is hanging in Jon's eyes, making him giggle and lean against her. He flips the photo over and reads the handwritten scrawl across the back: Kat and Jon, Christmas Eve, Between the Lines.

"Your grandfather took that photo," Annette says. "I think I somehow got it when I started working on a scrapbook project for Kat a few years ago - she wanted a memory book of the store." She pats Jon's arm. "She loved you very, very much, and I know she'd be so proud to see that you've kept her store thriving."

Jon doesn't reply. He honestly doesn't have words. All he can focus on is the photograph in his hands and the sudden assault of memories, all at once, flashes of moments he hasn't wanted to dwell on since the funeral, because it would mean giving in, admitting that she's really, truly gone, not just away for an indefinite period of time.

Annette leaves him alone, standing in the middle of Kat's office with his back to the laughter of the party. Eventually he drops down onto the couch and lays the picture on the cushion beside him as he folds his arms over his knees. He stares at nothing, just breathes slowly as his eyesight starts to blur a little.

"Hey, Jon, I'm gonna run out and get some more - " Spencer freezes in the doorway. "Hey. Is everything - are you okay?" He takes a cautious step toward him.

Jon looks up, blinks twice and feels the dampness of his eyelashes. "I'm..." He takes another deep breath, whispers, "She's gone, Spence. She's gone, and I - " He bites his lip, digs the heel of his hand against his eyes. His voice is starting to catch. "This is all I have left of her and I'm so fucking scared I'm gonna fuck it all up."

He doesn't look at Spencer. He's not asking for sympathy or comfort; if anything, he just needs to say it out loud to someone, make it real. His eyes are closed and his face is hidden in his hands, but when he hears Spencer pick up the photograph, he sighs, a loud whoosh of air, and then, suddenly, he hopes Spencer will stay.

The couch dips beside him, and Jon is wrapped in the warmth of Spencer's arm sliding around his shoulders, his breath gentle against Jon's cheek as he says softly, "No, you're not. She knew you wouldn't." He kisses the corner of Jon's mouth, just a soothing brush of lips, but it makes Jon gasp and turn his head.

"Spence - " It's not what he intended, the kiss, but it's happening, and Spencer's shaking his head as his hands come up to cup Jon's cheeks, thumbs framing his jaw. He kisses Jon back, slow and easy, and Jon thinks he might still be crying, but doesn't care.

Slow and easy gradually becomes deep and breathless, becomes Spencer pushing him slowly back against the arm of the couch, becomes Spencer straddling his hips as he slips his hands under Jon's shirt, cold palms on hot skin.

Jon whimpers into Spencer's mouth, and then promptly remembers where they are. "I - I can't do this in front of..." He flails his hand around the office, at the framed pictures on the wall of Jon and his brothers. "Third grade pictures, Spencer. They can't see me naked."

Spencer chuckles against his mouth, pulls back enough to nuzzle Jon's chin. "Am I getting you naked? This is news to me."

Jon does not blush easily, but he's emotionally vulnerable right now, so. "Either way, I'm not making out in my grandmother's office." He traces a finger over Spencer's lower lip, likes watching the way his eyes flutter shut like that.

"I've, um." Spencer licks his tongue out, sucks Jon's finger into his mouth quickly before letting it slide back out with a soft pop. "I've got a really great bed in my apartment. Feather bed, even. It's awesome."

"Good to know." Jon is having a hard time breathing and talking at once.

Spencer kisses him again, chastely. "Come home with me?" he whispers. "Don't force me to make a lame joke about you being my Christmas present."

"Sing me some Mariah Carey and I'll think about it." He nips at Spencer's mouth, thinks they should've been doing this ages ago.

"How 'bout I get Brendon to sing it and you come home with me anyway?"

Jon grins, feeling happy, really happy, as in down to his toes, for the first time in weeks, maybe even months. "Yeah, he'd probably sound prettier."

Spencer gives him one last peck on the cheek and rolls off of him, offering Jon his hand when he's finally standing over the couch. "I originally came by to tell you we're out of cups, so I was going to run down to the store and get some more. Think I still should?"

The laughter coming from the front is loud, matching the sounds of Brendon and Patrick singing harmonies on "This Christmas." Jon decides he's going to keep the store open for as long as it takes the last person to leave.

He lets Spencer pull him to his feet. "Yeah, I think you should."

~

Three things happen before Jon shuts the store up for the night.

First, Frank kisses Gerard, and it's nowhere near the mistletoe. It's actually in the middle of a loud, slightly drunk (but good-natured) argument between Pete and Gerard over the latest Batman movie versus the comics.

"I don't give a flying fuck if it's the best thing ever - you don't just randomly throw in fucking ninjas and expect real fans to say dick about it," Gerard says, gesturing like mad and sloshing a bit of eggnog on the coffee bar, voice echoing through the room. Brendon and Patrick have since stopped singing, and now it's just Brendon playing selections from A Charlie Brown Christmas (Pete will later tug Patrick outside and say something about "snow kisses," which will make Patrick blush but smile smittenly as they tumble out the door).

Pete opens his mouth with an obvious retort, but it's mostly forgotten when Frank suddenly swoops in and kisses Gerard, tongue and all, standing slightly on tiptoe. Gerard's hand flails out to brace himself against the coffee bar, but he leans into the kiss eagerly, eventually cupping the back of Frank's head to pull him closer, make the kiss deeper. There are whistles and catcalls, but Frank happily holds up his middle finger to the room and keeps kissing him. (Mikey, Gerard's brother who happens to be in town, makes a comment about needing a room for the night, since he's not about to stay in Gerard's loft when all that's going on.)

Second, Ryan talks to Brendon (with the help of a lot of Spencer nudging). It's awkward and a little adorable, since it's so rare to see Ryan fumble around for words. He apologizes to Brendon, who is sitting absolutely still at his keyboard as he patiently waits for Ryan to finish.

"So, um. In conclusion, I'm stupid and obtuse and I'm sorry for thinking you were some dickwad musical talent with no social skills," Ryan says, fingers drumming nervously against his leg.

Brendon's eyes widen. "You think I'm a musical talent?" he whispers.

Ryan sighs, rolls his eyes. "That's not exactly what I - "

It's a moot point, though, because Brendon's already lunging across the keyboard and kissing Ryan straight on the mouth. Ryan blinks, stumbles backward.

"Ryan Ross, you like me, admit it!" Brendon is smiling so hard, Jon wonders if his face hurts.

"I - I don't - " The speechlessness is a dead give away, of course, and Brendon tackles him into a hug that makes Ryan grunt, but not unhappily.

Third, Jon and Spencer have sex. Sort of.

Jon locks the door and shuts the lights off as he listens to Frank and Gerard climb the stairs up to Gerard's loft (Mikey ended up crashing at Ryan's - "There will absolutely be no sex happening at my place, trust me," Ryan had said, looking straight at Brendon, who was hanging off his shoulder), all drunken giggles and soft kisses.

Spencer's sitting on the counter by the register, idly swinging his legs as he watches Jon close up. "Tonight went well, yeah?"

Jon points to the empty hors d'oeuvres table, along with the empty punch bowl. "I'd say hell yeah." He's still a little tipsy and ridiculously proud of himself; for once, he feels like he knows what he's doing with this whole crazy place.

He pulls the drawer out of the register. "I just need to count this down and then we're done."

"You sure you can still count?" Spencer smirks.

Jon scrinches his nose at him. "You're driving me home. But yes, I can still handle a register drawer, thanks." He motions for Spencer to follow him back to the office, but when he gets there, Spencer's not behind him. He skips counting the money (tomorrow, everything can wait until tomorrow) and just sticks the drawer in the safe.

"Spence?" He leans out the office doorway, looks down the aisles.

"Over here."

He follows the sound of his voice through the stacks and eventually finds Spencer peering intently at a shelf of self-help books. It's really dark in this corner of the store, so he can't possibly see much.

"What, you decided to consult Dr. Phil before taking me home?" Jon says, knocking their shoulders together.

Spencer looks over at him, hair in his eyes, sticking to his lashes. He blinks slowly, with purpose, and his smile is even slower. And completely full of want.

"No. I just wanted to get you out of the office so I could do this." He's leaning as he says the last few words, and Jon barely has time to register the incoming kiss until it's happening, faster and deeper than anything they'd shared earlier. Spencer backs him up against the bookshelf and splays his hands over Jon's stomach, slides them higher, over shoulders, biceps, pectorals. He's not even touching skin, and yet Jon's already desperate, pushing into him, moaning his approval of every touch into Spencer's mouth.

It's not pretty, and maybe even a bit awkward when they finally get their jeans open and boxers shoved down far enough. Their hands knock into each other, and they fumble with the rhythm at first, Jon's hand wrapped around both of their too-dry cocks while Spencer thrusts up too quickly. But it's perfect anyway, because the rhythm finds itself and eventually there's enough precome between the two of them to make everything slick and hot. It's frantic and sharp and full of things yet to be said, but still kissed into a collarbone somehow, or sighed against a cheek. They don't last long, and when Spencer comes, he accidentally slams his head into the shelf.

"Fuck, Jon" becomes "ow, fuck", and then the shelf promptly gives way and spills a stream of paperbacks onto the floor, but not before every one of them hits Jon and Spencer on the way down.

Jon isn't even finished gasping through his own orgasm, but he still bursts out laughing, kissing the look of pissy dismay off Spencer's face.

"I think Kat's trying to tell us something," he mumbles into Spencer's mouth, breathless and flushed.

"You did not just insinuate that you think your grandmother saw us having sex." But Spencer is smiling, eyes drowsy and sated, his thumbs rubbing contented circles along Jon's hipbones.

They leave the books scattered on the floor, along with the broken shelf. If Ryan wants to ask in the morning, Jon thinks he's more than welcome to. He highly doubts they'll get more than an eye roll, and maybe, maybe, a blush.

That night, wrapped up in down blankets and Spencer, his body half-sunk into Spencer's feather bed, Jon sleeps the whole night through.

**