Archive of Our Own

Jon likes to think his problems began when the coffee shop across the street opened up. In all honesty, though, they began the day Frank moved in with Gerard a month before Valentine's Day.

It wasn't announced or anything; Frank was staying over at Gerard's all the time these days, and seeing his face at eight o'clock in the morning (practically a blur as he rushed down the stairs from the loft and bolted out the front door - staying next door to the place he worked tended to make Frank run later than usual) had become a regular occurrence. But then one Wednesday morning, Jon had noticed Frank leaving with a set of keys in his hand, along with a smile that could possibly rival the sun. Frank had saluted him with said keys, commented on the "beautiful weather," and started whistling some song from Mary Poppins.

"He moved in with you?" Jon asked ten minutes later when Gerard finally trudged downstairs, blurry-eyed but with a happy flush in his cheeks.

Gerard had paused, chewed his lip for a second, then broke into a grin that seriously looked like something he learned from Frank. "His lease is up, he needs a place to crash...," which was clearly code for it was a perfect fucking opportunity.

Jon's happy for them. Gerard's been using color in his sketches, and Frank, while not technically on the payroll, helps Jon shelve in the later afternoons after he gets off work, even when Gerard's gone for his office hours at the university. They're ridiculously adorable, to the point of being sickening, and Jon thinks it's the best thing for Gerard.

Except, it gets Jon thinking about things he's never considered before, namely asking Spencer to move in with him. It's been over a year since that first Christmas party at Between the Lines, and while it wasn't all perfect in the beginning, they've learned to fit with each other now; it doesn't take much for Jon to picture Spencer's socks on his bedroom floor, or his business text books covering his coffee table permanently.

But then the stupid fucking coffee shop opens for business, and everything sort of goes to shit.

*

The owner of Beloved Brew, Greta, is actually very sweet. Jon would almost call her cute were she not cutting into half his profit.

She smiles at him from behind her polished mahogany bar (several shiny, chrome espresso machines flank her on either side) and says, "I've heard about your bookstore - your grandma owned it before she died, right?"

Jon smiles back and wonders just how Kat would handle this situation: brand new coffee shop directly in the line of sight from Between the Lines that's been open all of two weeks, which is evidently plenty of time to kill all the business Jon was getting for his own (painfully modest) coffee bar. In the past three days, they've sold all of four lattes and a hot chocolate. Knowing Kat, she'd fuck the pleasantries and get right down to business, but Jon likes to fall back on his charm.

"Yeah, I took over about a year and a half ago. Wanted to keep it in the family."

"Aww, that's so lovely. I've always wanted to run a bookstore, but Bob talked me into coffee instead." She nods down the bar to her boyfriend and co-owner, who's grinding beans. Bob looks up and winks at her.

Jon thinks with a sigh, They have a grinder. Awesome. He turns up the charm a little more. "Well, how 'bout we compromise?" He folds his arms on the bar and leans in. "We have a cinnamon latte we serve, and I can see you guys make one, too. What if you let us keep making them instead, and in return we'll give you guys free advertising on our live music nights?"

Greta wrinkles her nose in thought for a moment, then laughs. "Surely you're not suggesting we're in competition with each other! That's nuts, people buy coffee from you for the ambiance. They come over here for all the other stuff." She reaches out, pats Jon's hand lightly. "C'mon, we're a neighborhood community! It's not a race or anything!"

Jon does a quick tally in his head of all the stale scones and muffins that'll get thrown out at the end of the day. Yesterday it was almost twenty-five. Three months ago it was a handful at most.

"Can I give you a vanilla chai to show you our gratitude?" Bob calls, holding up his metal pitcher of skim milk.

"No thanks, I'm good." He manages one last smile for Greta, then slides off the bar stool and goes back to the store.

Ryan's on alert the second Jon walks in the door. "No dice?" he asks from behind the register, kicking his feet down off the counter.

Jon waves him off, going straight back to his office to sit and sulk, mumbling about "fucking chai."

*

"So you offered up free advertising and she still turned you down?" Spencer asks.

He's lying on his stomach on Jon's couch, chin resting on his folded arms as he watches Jon mess with the DVD player. He's wearing Jon's favorite pair of black basketball shorts and a retro Bulls t-shirt that's about three sizes too small for him; he found it at some thrift shop, and Jon swears up and down it's children's-sized.

"I was charming, Spence," he says, scrinching his nose at the screen when he accidentally selects the wrong input for the sound system. Jon sometimes rues the day he let Mike talk him into buying a fucking NASA station to play DVDs. "It's like she's made of stone or something."

He doesn't have to turn around to hear the smirk in Spencer's voice. "What's hurting more, the shop or your ego?"

Jon flips him off over his shoulder and finally gets the main menu for Batman Begins. "This isn't funny. You know I'm practically hemorrhaging money since they opened up."

"It's a new business, they're gonna take a bite out of your profit before things even out again. People like trying out new things, but you've established yourself. It'll work out eventually." Spencer yawns and stretches, rolling over onto his back. "Unless a Barnes & Noble moves in, then you're both royally fucked."

"Thank you, Captain Optimism." Jon hits play and tosses the remote on the coffee table before flopping down on top of Spencer, knees loosely bracketing Spencer's thighs. Spencer makes an exaggerated oof noise.

"I might as well get a Saint Bernard."

Jon waggles his eyebrows. "I have a better DVD collection than a Saint Bernard."

"Mmm, true." Spencer splays a hand low on Jon's stomach. "Less fuzzy, though."

"Snuggly. I'm infinitely snugglier." Jon slides over Spencer's body, slow and easy, tucking his face up into the warm curve of Spencer's neck. He kisses him there, just a soft brush of his mouth, and he loves the way Spencer sighs.

"That's not even a word," Spencer says, voice suddenly barely above a whisper. Jon can feel him go boneless underneath him, melting into the couch.

"Sure, it is." He kisses Spencer again, thinks I want this every night. I want him here every night. And morning. Everything. Jon's heart starts to race, and he pulls back a little, enough to look down at Spencer and trace the slope of his nose with one finger.

Spencer's smirk wavers. "You okay?" he asks, tilting his head and frowning.

Jon swallows and forces himself to smile even as he's totally freaking out inside, knowing he's suddenly made a huge, monumental decision during the opening credits of a superhero movie.

"I'm perfect," he replies, and freaking out or not, in this moment, he means it.

*

Spencer doesn't work in the store any more since he started his internship for an up-and-coming music label. He gets class credit for it, and now that he's a handful of months away from graduation, Jon feels like he never sees him except for the rare days he shows up at Jon's apartment with Chinese and a six-pack of beer.

And now that he's decided to ask Spencer to live with him, Jon can't help but wonder if it'll change much, if Spencer will still be up at the crack of dawn to get into the office before his eight o'clock class, and home by nine, if he's feeling like cutting out early.

"Jesus, did you run over a kitten or something on the way to work?" Ryan's voice cuts through Jon's haze of emo (emo that doesn't really serve a purpose yet, since Jon hasn't even made a spare key). "Or are you really that distraught over the Salpeter chick ruining business?" His crosses his arms and leans against the doorway of the office.

For about five seconds, Jon considers telling Ryan his idea, but then promptly comes to his senses. Ryan's exact words when Jon told him he and Spencer were officially dating were, "Awesome. But if you hurt him, I will break your soul." It's the one and only time Jon's ever been scared shitless of Ryan; confessing that he's seriously considering asking Spencer to move in with him might make the scariness return.

So he shrugs and says, "Nothing, just. Had a long night," remembering the way he'd fucked Spencer slow and lazy on the couch before they eventually crawled into bed around two. Spencer still left his apartment at five-thirty this morning, and Jon barely remembers a bleary-eyed kiss and smelling hints of Spencer's aftershave.

Ryan rolls his eyes, but says affectionately, "You know he's driven. This isn't anything new, so stop sulking."

Jon pouts and wishes he weren't so transparent. He's also more than a little paranoid that Ryan will read him like a fucking book. "Look, it's - whatever, it's not like you have to worry about getting more than a couple of hours a week with Brendon."

"Honestly, that wouldn't be a bad thing," Ryan mumbles as he looks back to see who just walked in the door. He turns away to go back to the register, and Jon sighs. It took Ryan months before he finally admitted that yes, he and Brendon were dating, and had been since New Year's Eve a year ago. Things seemed pretty normal and content between the two of them after that, except lately Ryan has been having this...thing about Brendon consistently coming into the store every day to see him. Jon keeps pointing out that Ryan's boyfriend does indeed work next door to their store, and it's not like Brendon hasn't been doing this for months, anyway.

He's not jealous over this fact, though. Not at all.

But Jon's suddenly got a wide-eyed, slightly breathless Gerard standing in his doorway, who wasn't supposed to be in the store this morning due to a meeting with the bigwigs of the art department.

"They - I'm - " Gerard flails a hand at Jon.

Jon gets to his feet. "Oh shit, did they fire you?" He can't believe it, Gerard's classes were maxed out last semester, and his student's gave him stellar evaluations --

"No, I'm --" He shoves a hand through his hair as a huge grin breaks out across his face. "I've been appointed an assistant chair of the Art Department. They're making me full-time faculty starting next fall."

"No way!" Jon doesn't care if the whole store hears him. "Ryan, d'you hear - "

"Yeah, yeah, I heard." Ryan pokes his head around the doorway and gives Gerard a high-five. "Awesome work, congratulations."

Gerard laughs, shaking his head in disbelief. "This shit just doesn't happen, okay? I mean, I had another meeting with the chairs last week, and I know there's been a lot of turnover and the department's short-staffed and whatever, but I never thought...seriously, this should not be happening to me. I'm an adjunct, for fuck's sake."

"Shut up, you completely deserve it." Jon pauses, suddenly feeling a little guilty. "Have you told Frank?"

"Not yet, he was busy with a shitload of full-color pie charts when I stopped by."

Jon takes that as his cue to hug Gerard for the first time since...well, ever. "Congrats, dude."

He's not totally surprised that Gerard is a fierce hugger. "Thanks."

"Does this mean you're quitting?" Jon says as he pulls away, laughing as his stomach drops.

"'Course not." But then Gerard winces and adds, "Well. Maybe. But not until August at the earliest. Not that it matters, I fucking live upstairs. You're not getting rid of me that easy."

"We need the referrals, anyway," Ryan says from behind Gerard, smiling.

Jon snaps his fingers as a brilliant idea comes to him. "We're so celebrating tonight. Here, at the store." Yes, brilliant. There hasn't a party of any sort since Christmas (this year there was karaoke involved; Jon kind of wants to forget drunkenly serenading Spencer with Barry Manilow - Spencer finds "Mandy" more than a little hilarious these days).

Ryan raises an eyebrow. "We are, huh."

"Yup." He points at Gerard. "Bring whoever you want, man, it's totally cool. I'll even make you a sign."

Gerard beams. "You'd break out the good Crayolas for me?"

"Absolutely." He'll even get Brendon involved. Brendon loves getting to play with crayons. He's pondering using the reverse side of the giant banner they made for Ryan's birthday last year when the front door chimes and the entire store is filled with Frank's loud, slightly irritated, slightly concerned voice yelling, "Gee, what the fuck, I told you I'd just be a sec, it's not like I was gonna be all day, god - "

He comes barreling around the corner of one of the stacks and skids to a stop at Gerard's elbow, panting. "So what the hell's so important?"

Gerard bites his lip and smiles so hard, Jon can't help blurting out, "Your boyfriend's now a full-time department chair. All your kinky dreams are coming true, Iero."

Frank's eyes flare and his mouth drops open for all of two seconds before he's hauling Gerard to his chest and kissing him all sloppy and fast. "Holy fuck, I am officially on break, tell 'em I died if they come looking for me," he mumbles in between kisses as he drags Gerard toward the stairs leading up to Gerard's loft. "This calls for some serious head."

"That is why I hate Brendon hanging around those two," Ryan says as he and Jon watch them disappear up the stairs, Frank already gleefully tearing into the front of Gerard's jeans. "Too many goddamn ideas."

"You're just jealous," Jon replies dryly, and Ryan huffs.

*

Jon takes the whole "congratulations" banner very seriously, as does Brendon; the two of them hide in Jon's office with yards of butcher paper spread out on the floor and a couple dozen sparkly Crayolas for the entire afternoon, drawing doodles of unicorns and butterflies and tiny little black, glittery skeletons around giant block letters spelling out CONGRATS PROFESSOR GEE WAY. They wrap the banner around the front window of the store, after Jon closes up early and shuts all the blinds. Ryan digs out some old Christmas lights and strings them over the shelves, and Jon runs home and collects every bottle of remotely alcoholic beverage he can lay his hands on. It's not the most perfect celebration party, but it'll do.

Besides, after Gerard and Frank come back downstairs (a whole hour later), Gerard looks so sated and happy, Jon doesn't think it'll take much to make this night successful.

He's also trying very hard not to let his heart sink too much when Spencer eventually texts him back to say he'll be late to the party: ill try to make it as soon as i can but i cant make any promises.

"Where are all the snicker doodles?" Brendon asks, pawing through the nearly empty pastry cabinet by the coffee bar.

"We don't stock them anymore, remember?" Jon rubs a hand over his cheek. "They weren't selling." More aptly, no one wants store-bought cookies when they can simply go across the street to Beloved Brew and have freshly baked ones, so fresh you can practically smell them outside.

Brendon pouts at the empty case. "Who doesn't buy snicker doodles, seriously."

"Evil fascist coffee shop owners, that's who," Ryan replies dryly as he wraps the last of the lights around the register.

"Beloved Brew is actually Russian for Hates Everything Jon Walker." Jon would feel guilty at making such petty jokes at the expense of his competition, only...yeah, no. He's completely up for lame jokes at the expense of his competition.

Brendon carefully arranges the last of the banana nut bread out on the bar, right next to the bottle of Seagram's and the six-pack of Smirnoff Ice. "Nonsense, no one could possibly hate you, let alone Russians." He finishes with a flourish and makes giant Bambi eyes at Ryan. "Come next door with me and keep me company while I close up with Patrick?"

Ryan sighs. "I'm not sitting around watching you count the drawer down while Patrick plans out tomorrow's CD mix."

"It's fun and you know it. Besides, we can make out in the inventory closet and pretend we got locked inside again."

"Also pretend Patrick has the IQ of a spork." Ryan lets Brendon drag him out of the store, but he still rolls his eyes at Jon, who yells after them, "Gee's coming back in fifteen, don't be late!"

At the last minute, he adds, "And see if Patrick's got any cookies laying around!"

*

It's kind of adorable, the way Gerard fakes being surprised, like he hadn't just spent the last hour busying himself outside the building because Jon told him to. His eyes light up and he laughs in an aw-shucks way, and he has a scrinchy-faced, beaming Frank draped over his shoulder the entire time.

Since the whole thing is such short notice, there aren't a lot of people in attendance: Mikey comes in not long after Gerard arrives, bitching about traffic and how the music store he manages across town needs to relocate; Pete brings chips and salsa and tequila, then proceeds to make margaritas on the counter next to the register ("You have not lived until you've had a Wentzarita," he announces to the room); and with Pete is Gabe, a sociology professor at the university. Jon doesn't know much about him, only that he teaches a class on demonology that's one of the most popular courses on campus (Sociology 355: Genesis of The Cobra), and that he smiles too much at Spencer for Jon's liking.

The difference between Christmas parties and regular parties at the store is pretty much the lack of old ladies and the abundance of alcohol. Jon would feel guilty about having non-special event parties at the store, were it not for the rush of happiness he gets from hosting his friends in his grandmother's favorite place. It's cheesy as hell, and Jon would probably never admit it out loud to anyone (well, maybe Spencer, if he were really drunk), but he loves keeping the spirit alive in the store.

Gabe, apparently, knows more than a little Spanish, and he's somehow managed to not only switch out Jon's Creedence Clearwater CD for the Spanish-language version of Christina Aguilera's first album, but also to serenade the store with a loud, slightly off-key rendition of "Come On Over."

Spencer still hasn't shown, and Jon's starting to think he won't see him at all tonight. He drains the rest of his rum and Coke and sighs just as Brendon and Ryan slip through the front door, Patrick not far behind. Brendon's hair is mussed and Ryan looks totally guilty, which never fails to amuse Jon.

Patrick takes one look at Pete's sombrero and shakes his head.

Someone eventually demands a speech out of Gerard, and he yells, "Fuck speeches!" even as he crawls onto the closest folding chair and shoves the hair out of his eyes. He hasn't stopped smiling since Jon saw him this morning.

"Seriously, I love that all of you came out for this thing Walker threw together," he says, one hand cupped around his neck and the other held out to the room. "I guess all I can really say is that, um." He reaches down and takes his beer from Frank, holding it up in a toast. "Here's to eventually being tenured, and many more years shaping the creative minds of our next generation. Also, to not having my ass fired no matter what crazy shit I pull."

"Cheers, baby!" Frank yells, and everyone else applauds.

And that's the moment Greta Salpeter decides to knock on the door.

She's standing primly on the store's doorstep, wrapped in a gray peacoat with a fluffy pink scarf, a stainless steel thermos in one hand and a plate of what look like brownies in the other.

Jon glares and doesn't bother quieting the place down as he walks over to the door, unlocking it reluctantly.

"Can I help you?" he asks. He's past charming her.

Greta smiles happily and holds the plate of brownies out to him. "I saw you were having a party, so I made you some treats. Oh, and some peppermint hot chocolate." She laughs. "Brendon said you were low on sugar snacks."

Jon makes a mental note to kill Brendon the Traitor. "Um. Thanks." He takes the plate and the thermos, holding them with stiff hands. "Well, it's kinda cold out, so I'm just gonna shut the door and get back to - "

"Can I join you? We still don't know many people in the area and I'd kind of like to meet - "

"Yeah, um, it's kind of a private party. One of my friends got a promotion and we're celebrating. It's kind of his thing." He can feel his cheeks flush at the blatant rudeness, but he just can't bring himself to share any of this with her, not with the competition that's given him more migraines in the last few weeks than he cares to think about right now.

Greta's face only falls a little, like she expected Jon to turn her down. "No worries, just thought I'd ask. Bob's manning the shop right now, anyway, so I probably shouldn't leave him all alone."

He doesn't want to say it, but he still does. "Sorry."

She waves him off. "Your store, your rules," she replies, and Jon's pretty sure Greta's only half joking. "I'll come by tomorrow sometime for the plate and the thermos."

"Sure, yeah."

When he closes the door and turns around carefully, Ryan's standing there, eyes narrowed. "What was that all about?"

Jon holds up the brownies. "She brought food."

"Are they laced with cyanide?"

"No, she seemed pretty earnest about them." Jon thinks she'd be better off putting pot in them; at least he'd have the added bonus of getting high while hating her.

"I'm sure she was."

"Oh my god, chocolate!" Brendon materializes out of nowhere and swipes the plate from Jon, tearing the cellophane off the top and making loud, deep-throated sounds of ecstasy as he inhales a brownie. "Did Greta bring these?"

"Dude." Jon punches him in the shoulder. "About that - what the hell are you doing going over there asking for food?"

Brendon shrugs, licking the crumbs off his fingers. "Desperate times call for desperate measures."

Jon makes a face and takes the plate back, ignoring the way Ryan stares intently at Brendon's mouth. "This is war, Urie, c'mon."

"Uh-huh. Sure. Is that hot chocolate?"

Jon sighs, then shoves the thermos at him. "Fine, whatever, Judas."

"You break my cold, dead heart, Walker. Besides, anyone who provides chocolate out of the goodness of their heart can't be all bad."

"You are so not meant for a career in espionage," Ryan drawls, still staring at a single chocolate crumb hanging from Brendon's lower lip.

Pete and Gabe launch into a Ricky Martin sing-along, making Mikey actually laugh. Jon notices Patrick sitting in the far corner of the mystery section with his phone, texting and seemingly uninterested in his surroundings. It's very un-Patrick-like, and Jon realizes he hasn't seen Patrick talk to anyone since he arrived.

He's about to go over and find out what the problem is, except his own phone vibrates with a text.

gotta stay late, sry. ill call you tmrw? sry, have fun dont let bden and ry fuck in the office again

Jon is torn between throwing his phone across the room and having a serious fucking talk with his store manager.

*

Mikey Way comes to the store more often now, ever since he and Ryan got to be friends after the first Christmas party. He's just as fascinated with the comics section as Gerard, but he also picks over the horror novels and buys all the well-preserved early editions of Stephen King classics that come in.

Jon initially thought Mikey was indifferent to him in the beginning, but then he learned that he was just in the trial phase that everyone goes through when getting to know Mikey. Only within the last couple of months has he come off probation and actually earned a friendship with him.

"So," Mikey says, flipping through a fairly new Brian Lumley novel. "Any more thoughts on the Fender?"

"I keep telling you, I haven't played since high school. I can't justify spending that kind of money."

A week ago, Jon and Mikey had gotten into a discussion about basses, and Jon had let it slip that he'd been in a band - a shitty band, but a band nonetheless. He'd joined up late, and since all the other guys already had their instruments picked out, he got stuck playing bass. He quit playing once he left for college, and his mother had sold his bass in a garage sale.

Now Mikey's friend Alex is trying to sell his Fender Mustang, and Mikey's determined to get Jon to buy it.

"It's like riding a bike, seriously. You'll pick it up again in no time."

"I don't have time to pick it up again. I don't even have time for my camera."

Mikey sets the book on the counter and crosses his arms over his chest. "Maybe you need an excuse." He smiles knowingly. "Look, I practice a few nights a week with a couple of guys. It's nothing formal, not a band or anything, we just hang out and jam. You should come sometime."

Jon shakes his head, glowering as a customer walks by with a Beloved Brew cup in her hand. He can't remember the last time he made a fresh latte. "I don't know, I'm usually prepping for music nights, and then there's inventory, and - "

"Jon." Mikey holds up his hand. "Eight o'clock, Tuesday night - you're coming. I'll e-mail you the address. You can even test drive the Fender."

Like Gerard, Jon knows when to stop arguing with him and give in. "Okay," he sighs reluctantly. "Tuesday."

"Awesome." He pushes the Lumley novel toward Jon. "You should keep more of these in stock. And your Lovecraft selection is sorely lacking."

*

He doesn't think to ask Patrick about the night of Gerard's party until the following day, when he goes next door to Conceptual Sounds to give Patrick his Kate Nash CD back.

Patrick is alone (Brendon is in Jon's store, following Ryan around as he shelves travel books), a huge ledger spread out before him on the front counter. His glasses are slipping down his nose as he chews on the end of his mechanical pencil.

"Hey, brought this back for you," Jon says, gesturing with the CD.

Patrick glances up and squints at him. "Oh, right. Thanks. Like her?"

"She's pretty good. I really like this British indie chick kick you've got me on."

"Tell that to Pete. He thinks she sounds 'bored' or something." Something flickers in Patrick's eyes that looks vaguely sad, and Jon immediately remembers the way Patrick had cut himself off from everyone at the party.

He hardly ever talks relationship stuff with Patrick, especially when it concerns Pete; he feels way too awkward when he asks, "Um, is everything - I mean, you and Pete, are you guys okay?"

"Relatively speaking, sure. We're fine."

Not exactly the answer Jon thought he'd get. "It's just that the other night, at Gerard's party, you seemed...out of it."

He taps his pencil slowly against the ledger. "It's kind of complicated," Patrick finally replies quietly, and Jon tries to read into his tone whether or not he should press further.

"What's complicated?"

Patrick huffs out a loud breath and shoves his glasses back up his nose. "I don't even know if it's anything, okay?" He throws the pencil on the counter and starts to pace. "They just started hanging out together all the time again, and he never tells me where they go, or if I'm invited, or anything, and it's not that I'm jealous, I just want to know why the hell we can't go out anymore because he's always off doing shit with him - "

"Whoa, whoa." Jon grabs his arm and halts all the nervous pacing. "Doing shit with who? What are we even talking about?"

Patrick winces. "Pete and Mikey," he says, like he's embarrassed to say their names out loud. "They have...history. Lots of history. And I'm totally fine with it, I really am, but..." He tugs at his hat brim. "It just feels really secretive sometimes. And when they're together and I'm around, it's like I don't exist. Hence my lack of exuberance at Gee's party."

Jon doesn't want to say the usual I'm sure it's nothing, but he can't imagine Pete ever doing anything devious when it comes to Patrick. Everyone and their dog's cousin knows Pete worships the ground Patrick walks on; he'd sooner cut off his ear than hurt him.

"I'm sure it's nothing," he says anyway. "Mikey's a cool guy. He's probably more interested in getting me to buy a damn Fender than he is in getting into Pete's pants."

"Yeah, I know." Patrick's tone implies that he doesn't, not really, and he thinks Jon's humoring him. "Don't say anything to Pete, though, okay?"

Jon mimes zipping his lips.

"And since when were you gonna to buy a Fender? If you're in the market, I know a ton of guys who'd get you a great deal."

"I'm not in the market. There is no market, and I'm definitely not in one, period." He considers asking Patrick to go with him to this jam session with Mikey, but then realizes that might be awkward. "I don't even play that well."

"Then why is Mikey trying to sell you a Fender?"

"Because he's delusional." And because Jon can already feel himself starting to crack.

*

It's five days until Valentine's Day. Jon knows this for a fact because he's starting to have tiny anxiety attacks over asking Spencer the move-in question (it's stupid to ask your boyfriend to live with you on Valentine's Day, but at the same time, it's also kind of stupidly perfect), and because Brendon bursts into his office first thing in the morning and announces, "It's five days until V-Day, and you'll never guess what I've got planned for Ryan."

"Please tell me it involves you keeping your clothes on."

"That's afterwards, duh." He pulls over the ancient spare rolling chair and straddles it, his body practically vibrating with glee. "No, really, it's fucking brilliant."

Jon sweeps his arms out. "I'm all ears." Also, Ryan's not due into the store until noon, and Jon's pretty sure Brendon's going to explode if he doesn't tell someone his brilliant plan.

"Okay, so picture this: a giant Valentine waiting for him in the center of the store, with all his grade school pictures in chronological order, including candids from his skater punk years and that time in seventh grade when he had this bowl cut that would make The Beatles cry. I call it I love the many versions of Ryan Ross, no matter what!" He sits back, beaming.

Jon stares at him. "Um, first off? You know Ryan hates having pictures of himself on display in public, right?" Not to mention this doesn't help Ryan's "thing" about Brendon hanging around the store constantly.

"Psssh, this is a holiday built on public displays of affection! It's supposed to be adorable!"

"You'll never get the pictures from him."

"That, my friend, is where one Spencer Smith comes in. It's already been arranged, and by this time tomorrow, I'll have a shoebox of pictures in my possession."

Jon wonders what, exactly, Brendon told Spencer to get him to turn those over. "Just...don't go overboard, okay? Trust me."

Brendon spreads his hands out in front of him, attempting his best innocent face. "This is me! I am a paragon of discretion."

Jon might be more than a little afraid for Ryan.

"Like you're not planning something that'll make Spencer look at you like you're an idiot."

He feels his cheeks flush slightly. "Unlike some people, I really am a paragon of discretion."

Brendon smirks and starts singing the chorus of "Mandy." Jon kicks him out of the office.

*

Of course, Beloved Brew is having a Valentine's Day event: free heart cookies with every latte purchased, and buy-one-get-one-free hot chocolates.

Jon calls Patrick's cell. "Tomorrow night, you and Brendon are doing love songs," he says as he watches Greta hang sparkly pink heart globes in their front window.

"Uh. I thought we were doing a hair band tribute. You know, Poison and Whitesnake, songs that make you want to shake your ass on the hood of a Camaro."

"No, no, you should definitely do love songs. It's Valentine's Day, for fuck's sake." Greta catches him watching and waves. Jon nods jerkily in response. "And do you have any, like, scented candles?"

There's a long pause. "If this is about that damn coffee shop, I'm hanging up. And burning candles in a bookstore isn't a smart move, Walker."

"Fine, but there better be some Lionel Richie and Michael Bolton."

"I'll do the former, but fuck Bolton, dude. You'll have to start paying me." Patrick hangs up, and Jon goes back into the office to do a mock-up of a flyer.

Between the Lines presents Valentine's Day Love Song Night! Free hot chocolate, live music, and 10% off every purchase from 6:00 to closing!

He prints them on bright pink paper and hangs one outside the door of Beloved Brew.

He figures there's no shame in wartime.

*

Spencer wakes up at five in the morning, like usual. Jon lays in bed, listening to the shower running, the only light in the room coming from underneath the bathroom door. He thinks it wouldn't be so bad if he knew he'd have Spencer here every night, regardless of when he leaves.

He doesn't realize he's fallen back asleep until he wakes up to the feel of Spencer's breath hot on his cheek.

"I'm out," Spencer whispers as he kisses the corner of Jon's mouth.

"It's not even six yet." Jon tangles his hand in Spencer's shirt and tugs him close, kissing him back deep and slow, teeth scraping over Spencer's bottom lip. "You can be an hour late today. It'll be for a good cause." He pulls him down to where Spencer is nearly lying on top of him.

Spencer makes a tiny, tiny sound of acquiescence - it could almost be categorized as a whimper - but then he shakes his head, pulling back. At least his breathing is shallow. "I can't, that'll put me in rush-hour traffic."

A part of him wants to just grab onto Spencer and ask him to move in right then and there, fuck rush-hour traffic. But he's not brave enough. "Take off early tonight, then. Come over and watch So You Think You Can Dance? with me."

He laughs softly. "I'll do my best. Or, you know, you could stay at my place."

"I have all the food and the hi-def cable."

Spencer snorts. "You calling me shallow?"

"Nope, just resourceful." And wouldn't it be great to only have one apartment to drive home to? he thinks, mentally adding up the miles between his apartment and the university and Spencer's office. "By the way, did you give Brendon pictures of Ryan for his epic Valentine thing?"

Spencer blinks. "What epic Valentine thing? He told me he and Ryan were trading pictures as way of 'bonding over bad junior high hairstyles.'" In the semi-dark, Jon still sees the airquotes.

He buries his face in his pillow. "Oh god, Brendon's dead."

*

Tuesday night, Jon goes out to Mikey's friend Ray's house. The so-called jam sessions take place in Ray's living room; the coffee table has been moved to one side, but everyone is mostly just sitting around with their guitars watching an episode of 24 on mute and idly strumming chords every once in a while.

Mikey happily introduces Jon to everyone, like he's already a new member of the group. Ray has about three different guitars laying around him, two acoustic and one electric, and there are "about five more where those came from," he explains with a grin. Tom Conrad looks vaguely familiar to Jon, and then he realizes he's seen his band, Empires, playing around town a few times in the past.

"Are you guys still together?" Jon asks.

Tom shrugs, squinting at the tuning pegs of his acoustic. "Sort of. Our bassist wanted to finish up school, so we took a hiatus for a year or so. We still get together and work on songs every once in a while." He eventually looks up and grins. "You own a used bookstore?"

"Yeah, it was my grandmother's. She left it to me when she died."

"That's a pretty awesome gift."

Jon only flinches a little. "Sure." He starts to change the subject when Alex, Mikey's friend with the Fender, shoves said bass into his hands and says, proudly, "Here, try her out. She's in perfect condition."

"Uh." Jon flails around for second as he slings the strap over his shoulder, hands fumbling with the strings. "Are you sure?"

"Dude, yes. I have three of these, and I'm broke. I need the cash to get new amps for my gigs." Jon remembers Mikey mentioning the indie band Alex has with his best friend, Ryland.

He kicks his shoes off and sits cross-legged on the floor, settling the bass in his lap and trying to remember the way his hands fit over the fretboard, the position of his right hand over the strings. His calluses have long since gone soft, but Mikey was right; once he starts picking out random bass lines, it all comes back to him, and it hits Jon rather suddenly how much he's missed playing, missed the rush of simply making music.

The five of them play back and forth to each other, like a round robin made up of bits and pieces of songs and spontaneous melodies. Jon's fingers start to ache a little, but he doesn't care.

At around ten-thirty, Pete shows up.

"Walker!" he exclaims, giving Jon a high-five. "Fancy meeting you here. Mikey said he was gonna bring you over to the dark side eventually."

"Speak for yourself, Sith Lord," Mikey drawls, and Pete flips him off with a smirk as he flops down on the couch beside him.

Immediately, Jon's conversation with Patrick a few days earlier comes to mind. He's not about to pry, but he can't help saying, as casually as possible, "What's Patrick up to tonight?"

Pete shrugs. "I don't know, he said he was staying late at the store. I asked him if he wanted to come with, but he got all weird and fidgety, so I left it alone." He cocks his head at Jon, suddenly looking pensive. "Is there something going on with him? He's seriously been weird a lot lately."

Jon tries to look innocent. "No idea, dude."

"Maybe your wooing skills aren't up to par anymore," Mikey says, nudging Pete in the side. "More woo, less talk."

"That's why God invented Valentine's Day." Pete beams and throws an arm around Mikey's shoulders. "I have plenty of woo. I'm gonna shower Patrick with woo, just you wait."

Jon grins and wishes Patrick had come along after all.

*

The pads of Jon's fingertips hurt like a bitch the next morning, and they also remind Jon that he's now got a Fender Mustang of his very own sitting on his couch back in his apartment. He hasn't been this excited about a purchase since he bought his first camera.

He's sitting behind the register, making lists of what still needs to be done before the Valentine's Day music night, when Gerard and Frank come downstairs together. Frank's shoving his Kinko's polo into his khakis, an unlit cigarette hanging out of his mouth, and Gerard barely looks awake (the nine o'clock chair meetings aren't doing him any favors). He stops at the coffee bar and pours his usual cup; Jon's made him coffee every morning since his promotion.

Frank comes up short at the door, hands digging into his pockets. "Fuck, I lost my lighter. Do you - ?"

Gerard doesn't even glance over, just reaches into his back pocket and tosses a lighter at Frank.

"You're a lifesaver." He takes the cigarette out of his mouth long enough to press his index and middle fingers to his lips and blow Gerard a kiss. "I'll see you at noon, or one if I'm swamped and can't get away."

"'kay," Gerard yawns, but he's grinning stupidly at his coffee cup.

Jon goes back to his lists and tries to ignore the sharp tug of envy in his chest, and the fact that he hasn't seen Spencer in three whole days.

*

He doesn't actually take Spencer out on Valentine's Day, because Spencer has a huge economics test the next day and has sworn to barricade himself in his apartment to study until he passes out. Which leaves Valentine's Day Eve; it's not as romantic, but Jon figures it's the next best thing.

He's not trying to be overly romantic or obvious, just - he doesn't want to ask Spencer to move in with him over pizza and beer on his couch during a Family Guy marathon. So he makes reservations at their favorite Italian bistro that's both low-key and fairly private. He opts out on the complimentary holiday rose-and-champagne, though. No use getting Spencer suspicious.

For once, Spencer's on time. Jon takes it as a good omen.

"I can't remember the last time you wore real shoes out in public for me," Spencer says as he slides into the corner both. His smile is wide, no smirk in sight; he's honestly flattered, and with Spencer, that's saying a lot.

"What, winter doesn't count?" He's also waiting on Spencer to comment on the fact that Jon's wearing the Brooks Brothers navy blue pinstripe button-down Spencer bought him for his birthday. Jon always says it makes him feel like a some kind of hot-shot corporate guy, but he rarely wears it out, mostly because he hates ironing.

"I know the difference between necessity and wanting to impress me." Spencer chews the corner of his lip as his eyes sweep over Jon. "By the way, nice shirt." Even in the dim light, Jon can tell Spencer's blushing.

They order wine and pasta—penne with marinara for Jon and cheese ravioli for Spencer. Nothing fancy, just the usual dishes they get whenever they eat here, and it would feel like any other night out were it not for Jon's heart pounding in his throat as he obsesses over the spare key to his apartment in his pocket, the one he had made three nights ago. Jon stares down into his wine glass, wanting more than liquid courage. His palms are starting to sweat.

"Hey." He feels a foot nudge his under the table. Jon glances up to find Spencer watching him curiously. "What's wrong? You got really quiet all of a sudden."

He shrugs, reaching across the table and tracing his index finger over Spencer's wrist. "Just thinking, that's all. You - " Jon ducks his head and laughs. "You wouldn't let me take you out for Valentine's Day last year."

"I was young and stupid. Also hung up on labels." It's Spencer's turn to laugh and look sheepish. "But I caved eventually, didn't I?"

"Sort of. You still won't let me buy you flowers."

"Flowers die. I want fucking chocolate." Spencer grins, flipping his hand over slowly so their palms line up, lacing his fingers with Jon's.

I can do this, I can totally do this, Jon thinks, and he wills himself not to throw up. He opens his mouth, starts to form the words, but then Spencer blurts out, "Okay, I have to tell you this, because if I don't do it tonight, Ryan says he'll tell you first thing tomorrow morning, and I don't want you hearing it from him."

Jon blinks. "What?"

Spencer gives a nervous wince, which makes absolutely no sense. "So you know that I want to get my MBA after I graduate." It's not a question, but it doesn't need to be; Jon's known for a while now that Spencer has had plans for his master's, hence his hardcore attitude about the internship.

"Sure, you applied to the program at the university a month ago, right?" Jon's eyes flare. "Oh man, you got in, didn't you? Already?" He beams at Spencer, squeezing his hand. "Shit, you should've told me sooner, dude, I would've taken you some place really special." He leans over and kisses Spencer's cheek. "Congrats."

But Spencer's turning red, and it's not a happy flush. "I got in," he replies carefully, "but not to the university here." He pulls his hand away from Jon's slowly and picks up his wine glass, fidgeting with the stem. "I got into the program at Belmont University."

Jon is suddenly confused for several reasons, but mainly because he had absolutely no idea Spencer had been applying to schools outside the state (he barely even knows where the hell Belmont University is).

"But." He licks his lips, and his stomach goes a little cold. "But...that's in, like, Tennessee."

Spencer nods, not looking up from his glass. "I know it is. But they've got this music business program that's nationally regarded, and I could build my contacts up. I could practically be guaranteed a job in the industry once I finished, especially with this internship on my resume."

Jon knows he should be proud of him. But he also knows that, deep down, he's a selfish, horrible bastard who just wants his boyfriend to stay close and not run off to some school hundreds of miles away.

The spare key sitting in his pocket feels like a brick.

"Wow, that's really awesome," Jon finally says, swallowing hard as he tries for a real smile. "When did you find out?"

"Two days ago. I haven't even told my parents yet." Of course, he told Ryan before he told Jon, but Jon knows that's where he falls in the chain of importance, and it'll always be that way, regardless. It's the least of his woes at the moment.

"So, I - I guess you'll be scouting out apartments down there eventually." He wants to stand up and throw the key through a window or something. Selfish, selfish bastard.

Spencer still avoids Jon's eyes, and he looks slightly miserable. Jon hates himself for taking comfort in that. "Yeah, my lease isn't up until April, so I'll probably go down there in March sometime and look around." He finally glances up, cheeks pink, and adds softly, "You can come with me."

Jon doesn't want to go with him. He doesn't want any part of this, it's bad enough he's had to give up Spencer for his stupid internship, and now. Now he's got a stupid fucking college in a stupid far-off state to contend with. It's not fair, and Jon just wants to curl up and pout like a three-year-old.

But he closes his eyes for a second, breathes in deep, and replies just as softly, "Sure."

Spencer huffs out a breath and reaches out to cup the back of Jon's neck, leaning in to kiss him. "I'll hate every second I'm gone, you know that, right?" he whispers against Jon's mouth.

You're practically gone now, Jon wants to say, but instead he opens his mouth wider and licks over Spencer's bottom lip, kissing him slow and probably too deeply for such a public place.

"Yeah, I know," he whispers back, and skims his knuckles over Spencer's cheek.

They don't eat or say much after that. Eventually Jon takes Spencer home and pins him up against the door of Spencer's apartment once they're inside, lets Spencer rip the Brooks Brothers shirt off his body, gets him to gasp Jon's name in that breathless, high-pitched tone Spencer would never admit to owning in any post-coital setting. It's fast and dirty and heavy with things Jon can't say; he wonders if Spencer feels the heaviness, too.

Later, when they're tangled together in bed and Jon's focused on the slow, even patterns of Spencer's breathing, Spencer says, "I'm not letting you shut this down." He sounds very young, his words almost too loud in the close darkness.

Jon doesn't even try faking sleep. "I won't." He curls in tighter against Spencer's side, hand splayed low over his stomach.

"You might. You probably wouldn't even know you were doing it." Spencer's breath is hot against Jon's neck. "But I won't let you. I'm a stubborn fuck who gets too attached to the stuff he loves."

Jon's heart all but stops. "Stuff?" he replies, feeling his skin go warm. They've never said this much to each other. Ever. He closes his eyes and kisses Spencer's shoulder carefully, almost as if the mood will shatter if he breathes too hard.

Spencer's stomach jerks under Jon's palm as he swallows. "Shut up," he whispers, rolling onto his side and tucking his face into the hollow of Jon's throat, lips brushing back and forth over Jon's collarbone.

Somehow, they eventually fall asleep.

*

Valentine's Day begins with a freak thunderstorm. The sky is dark and fierce, the clouds hanging too low to the ground, and the rain falls so hard it slants to one side. Traffic is a nightmare, and it takes almost an extra half hour to get across town on the rain-clogged streets.

Jon is soaked by the time he makes it into the store, and none of this is even the worst part of his morning, because sitting in the center of the store is the most gigantic, neon pink-colored Valentine he's ever seen in his life. It stands nearly six feet tall and has an almost life-sized picture of a fourteen-year-old Ryan Ross staring back at him. Across the top are the words I love the many versions of Ryan Ross!! in sparkly purple letters.

Jon stands in the doorway, dripping on the floor, and stares at Brendon's definition of "discretion."

"How did he get in here?" he mumbles to himself, then starts plotting how to get rid of the thing before Ryan sees it. He could hide it in Gerard's loft, he's got a key in case of emergencies, or he could -

The door opens behind him, and Ryan almost plows into Jon in his attempt to escape the downpour. "Jesus Christ, it's like a goddamn tsunami out there!" He's just as soaked as Jon, and he shakes his wet hair out his eyes as he tries to close his umbrella, which has been blown inside out. "I'm telling you, global warming is gonna fuck as all in the end. This isn't natural."

It's all Jon can do not to flail his arms out and block Ryan from seeing the valentine. "Just - Ryan, you might want to - "

But it's too late. Ryan tosses his umbrella behind the counter and tugs his wet coat off just before glancing at the center of the store.

He goes completely still.

"Ryan - " This time, Jon really does flail an arm out. "It's not - he was really excited about it - "

"What." Ryan drops his coat on the floor and swallows. "What the hell is that?" His voice is scarily calm and way too even.

"It's. Um. Brendon's valentine. For you." Jon winces.

Ryan walks over to it slowly, like he would a caged tiger. His mouth is set in a very firm line. "You knew about this?" Still calm, still monotone.

"He told me about it, yeah. A few days ago." For a second, Jon considers the fact that while he knew about the valentine, Ryan knew about Spencer moving to Tennessee.

Ryan circles the entire thing, not touching it at all. The inside is also covered with full-color copies of every single grade school picture Ryan's every taken, along with sports photos (pee-wee hockey), birthday party shots (a Transformers theme), and random candids (skater punk Ryan with a bright green skateboard and black Vans).

On the back, signed in the same sparkly purple, is Love always, B.

"I'm going to kill him," Ryan says calmly.

"Ry - "

"No, really. I'll bury his remains in a remote location and no one will ever know." He hugs his arms tightly around his chest, and finally, there's a flash of emotion in his eyes as he glares at the valentine. "He fucking knows I don't do shit like this," he hisses softly.

Jon sighs, feeling a migraine coming on. "He was trying to be romantic. He wasn't trying to embarrass you."

"I'm not embarrassed, I'm livid." And just like, Ryan cracks: he kicks the valentine across the room, where it lands face-down on the floor. "This is what I'm talking about, Jon - he never stops. It's always phone calls, or following me around the store, or texting me Disney lyrics, or just being in my face constantly. I need space, and that's like a fucking foreign concept to him."

He picks up the valentine and tries to dust off the shoe print Ryan made on the front. "Have you mentioned this to him at all?" Jon asks carefully, praying Brendon doesn't walk through the door.

"What's the point? He never listens to me. It's always, 'C'mon Ry, make out with me in the storage closet,' or, 'You're so cute when you're irritated.'" He jerks both hands through his damp hair. "I'm going back to count the drawer. Get rid of that thing, and if Brendon shows up, tell him I'm busy." Ryan stomps off to the back office, his wet shoes squeaking against the tile.

Jon ends up carrying the valentine upstairs, where he rests it against the wall next to the door of Gerard's loft.

"Happy Valentine's Day," he mutters, then goes off in search of some Advil.

*

Luckily (or not, depending how you look at it), Brendon doesn't show his face in the store until almost noon. He takes one look at the empty floor and the lack of Ryan, and his face falls so hard Jon swears it almost crashes.

"He hated it," Brendon says softly, and Jon doesn't have the heart to be honest.

"No, he - he just didn't want it out in the open."

"Where is he?"

"He's..." Jon looks down the mystery aisle and catches Ryan's eye. Ryan glares and shakes his head. "He's at lunch." Too bad Jon's as shitty a liar as Brendon.

Brendon bites his lip. "I see. Okay." He rolls his shoulders. "Well, tell him I meant it in the best way possible, and I'm sorry if it pissed him off." He raises his voice at the end.

"I will. Just give him some space today."

"It's Valentine's Day, Jon," Brendon whispers. He shakes his head. "Whatever, I'll see you tonight for the gig."

He slinks out of the store, and Jon starts to tell Ryan to go after him, but Ryan yells from the stacks, "I don't even want to hear it."

*

Love Song Night draws a modest crowd, mostly because people stop in to hide from the torrential rain. No one really partakes of the hot chocolate, though, because they've already got their Beloved Brew cups clutched tightly in their hands.

There are puddles everywhere, and Patrick starts to get nervous about the amps and the rest of the electrical equipment. Jon does his best to keep the floor mopped, but eventually Patrick pulls him aside and says, "Sorry, I'm just not comfortable with this. It's too crowded and there's too much water around." He doesn't mention the fact that Brendon is mopier than a mopey thing, which doesn't bode well for singing songs about eternal love.

So they cut things short after three songs, and Jon watches with a heavy heart as people scatter out the door and go across the street to the coffee shop, its front window twinkling with red lights and sparkly heart globes.

"Doing anything with Pete tonight?" Jon asks Patrick, forcing himself to stop staring forlornly out the window.

"He said he's picking me up later for a 'surprise,' whatever that means." He shrugs as he wraps up the amp chords. "He said he saw you at Ray's the other night, by the way."

Jon can't think of a good response, so he says, simply, "Oh?"

"I figured he'd go over there. He likes to watch Mikey play." There's a tightness to Patrick's voice, like he's trying so hard to keep the bitterness out of his tone.

"Yeah, it was a lot of fun. I'm going back next week, you should go with me."

Patrick shrugs again. "Naw, I'll pass. Thanks, though." He looks around the room. "Where'd Bren go?"

In the background, Jon can hear voices coming from the office. He hears Brendon yell, "I was only trying to do something special!" and Ryan yell back, "Special is dinner out or a new watch, not a diorama of humiliation!"

"Um, you don't want to know," Jon replies, and starts to help Patrick pack up the rest of his gear.

*

Jon's brother Bill hardly ever calls him at the store, but when he does, it's usually a big deal.

Only this time, instead of calling, Bill drops by the store in person.

"I haven't been by in months, so I thought I'd come take a look, see how things're going," he says, dropping onto the couch in the office.

"You don't do random stops like this," Jon replies, smirking as he swivels around in his desk chair. "What's really going on?

Bill claps his hands together between his knees. "How's business since the coffee shop opened?"

Jon bristles. Bill's a freelance business consultant, and Jon hates letting on about any sort of financial problems when it comes to the store. "It's...been better, I guess. We're still recovering."

"That's a nice way of saying it sucks."

"No, I'm saying it's been better. They're new in the area and people are attracted to new businesses." He hopes quoting Spencer will make him sound more positive.

Bill is quiet for a long moment, tapping his toe against the wood floor. Finally, he says, "Jonny, I've got a proposition for you."

"Pretty sure the last time you said that to me, I was ten and you wanted me to eat dirt."

"No dirt involved this time, promise." He reaches into his coat pocket and hands Jon a glossy brochure advertising Connor's Photography Inc.

Jon turns the brochure over in his hands. "It's a portrait studio," he says slowly, not getting where Bill's going with all this.

"That's a studio owned by a friend of mine who's retiring soon. He's offering to sell it to me for an insanely cheap price."

"And what, you want me to buy it instead?"

"No, I want you to run it for me."

Jon blinks at him. "You want to run a photography studio with me? Are you serious?"

"It's like this - I buy it up, you have all the managerial roles and co-ownership. Basically, it'll be your studio, and I'll just be the silent partner." He points at the brochure. "You don't have to keep it a portrait studio, you can do whatever you want. But I know how much you wanted something like this, and you shouldn't be stuck watching over Grandma's bookshop when what you really should be doing is practically being handed to us."

He keeps waiting for the punchline, for the joke to happen. Yeah, his family has known for years that Jon's always wanted his own photography studio, but then Kat died and...Jon's never looked at the store as an obligation. So much has happened in the last year and a half, and right now he can't understand why Bill would think he'd give it up.

"What about the store, huh? I can't just leave," Jon replies, handing the brochure back to Bill. "I can't do that to Kat, I can't just - "

"Jon, this place is a money drain. You know that. Grandma was only able to keep it open because she was retired and Grandpa wanted to keep her happy. It's only a matter of time before the cost of the upkeep of this place vastly outweighs the profit it brings in, and then where will you be? You'll be left a room full of books and no income."

Jon feels his heart start to pound heavily. "It's not about that, Bill." This is why Kat left Between the Lines to him instead of his brothers; for Jon, it's never been about profit margins.

Bill slumps back against the couch. "I know you're attached to this place. I get that. But you need to start considering how much you're willing to put into it. You don't know the first thing about advertising or marketing, and in this day and age, that's vital. Look at what's happened just from a snazzy little coffee joint going across the street. Your coffee bar's collecting dust bunnies."

"I'm working on a strategy," Jon lies. "Spencer's a business major, he gives me lots of tips - "

"Spencer doesn't run your store, you do." Bill shakes his head. "Just think about it, all right? I didn't expect you to make a decision today, anyway." He gets to his feet and musses Jon's hair like he did when they were kids. "I'm just looking out for my little brother."

Jon ducks away, swatting at Bill's hand. "Your concern is duly noted."

"I'll see you at Mom's next weekend."

Bill tosses the brochure on Jon's desk on his way out, and Jon spends the next half hour staring at it, replaying every one of Bill's words in his head.

*

Jon doesn't tell Ryan about Bill's offer right away. Ryan's been preoccupied with the sudden radio silence from Brendon.

"I never said we should break up," Ryan says petulantly, sprawled out in Gerard's paisley armchair. "I just said I...needed a break from him."

"I might be wrong, but that sounds a little like I want to break up to me." Jon's sitting on the floor at Ryan's feet, price-logging a new batch of romance novels.

"No, it doesn't." He smacks the chair's arm, sending up a cloud of dust. "When a band goes on hiatus, does that mean it's broken up?"

"Depends." Jon sets his spreadsheet aside and says, hands in his lap, "Bill wants me to sell the store and run a photography studio with him."

Ryan sits up slowly, eyes narrowed. "You told him no, right?"

"Not exactly, but I inferred it. But I don't know, he...might have a point."

"Kat would kick your ass if she heard you saying any of this."

Jon flops onto his back and stares up at the old, dusty ceiling. There's still a yellow No. 2 pencil stuck up there from when Jon was twelve and bored out of his skull. "Maybe I just need to reevaluate what I'm doing here, you know? Beloved Brew might just be the first of a long string of problems."

Ryan kicks his knee. Hard. "Shut. Up. You sell the store and I'll kick your ass myself. And I'm not even mentioning what Gerard will do to you."

"You're selling the store?"

Jon looks up to find Spencer standing over him, eyes wide. He scrambles to his feet, wiping the dust off his hands on his jeans. "What are you doing here?"

"No, seriously, you're selling the store?" Spencer looks as if Jon's admitted to running a puppy mill.

"I'm not doing anything. Not yet."

"Never," Ryan says emphatically.

"It's just..." Jon waves his hand vaguely. "Things are kind of rough right now and Bill's offered me my own studio, and I think, possibly - "

Spencer shakes his head. "You don't mean that. You can't. After everything that's happened, you'd really sell out?"

"Spence, it's a bookstore, not a punk band." For some reason, Spencer's indignation over the possibility of Jon selling the store makes Jon weirdly angry. It's not like Spencer's even going to be around, anyway. "I'm trying to look at this from a business standpoint. You of all people should get that."

"I get that you're wanting to take an easy way out."

That's just totally unfair. "What I want is to not completely fuck myself in three years. Gerard's leaving, Ryan'll be gone in another year, and you've been gone for months now. It's just a matter of time before things go from bad to worse and I'm, like, declaring bankruptcy or something, all because I'm too attached to this damn place."

Something flickers over Spencer's face, and suddenly he's glaring at Jon, a mixture of hurt and anger in his eyes. "A year ago you were desperate to keep this place going in Kat's memory," he says softly, his words tight. "So forgive the shit out of me if I'm just a little shocked that all it takes to get you to go back on all that is a stupid coffee shop and your big brother's handout."

Jon glances over his shoulder, and Ryan's just staring back at him, nodding along with Spencer's every word.

"You can't begin to understand," Jon replies, feeling a rush of heat in his cheeks as he stalks off to his office.

"You're right, Jon, I have no idea what's it like to have memories in a place, or make really hard fucking decisions!" Spencer yells after him.

Jon slams the door to his office and blares Nine Inch Nails for the next hour.

*

Spencer doesn't come over that night. Or call. It might have a lot to do with Jon keeping his cell turned off.

The next morning, Jon finds he has one voicemail.

"When you've stopped having your own personal pity party, call me," Spencer says, voice low and rough, like he called after having been asleep for a while.

As he tries figure out what to say when he calls Spencer back, Brendon comes into the store, head bowed. He walks right up to Jon and wraps his arms around Jon's neck.

"Please don't sell this place," he mumbles into Jon's hair before walking back out the door.

Jon looks up and sees Ryan standing not far off, expression completely unreadable except for the conflict in his eyes.

"Just go over there and tell him you miss him, you jerk," Jon says, suddenly very tired.

Ryan chews the corner of his lip. "Of course I do. But with him, it's never..." He scrubs a hand over his face. "It's never just about being together. He believes in forever and soulmates and Emily Dickinson poems. He's permanent, and that's just really fucking scary to me sometimes."

Jon rolls permanent around in his head and thinks Ryan has every right to freak out.

"I was gonna ask Spence to move in with me," he says in a single, rushed breath.

Ryan doesn't even blink. "I figured as much. There's still time to talk him out of Belmont, y'know."

Jon shakes his head and smiles ruefully. "You're the one who said he's driven and I should get used to it. This is me getting used to it."

"By selling the store and not telling him how you really feel about him taking off for Tennessee?"

He folds his arms on the counter and tries not to look dejected. "I'm being a grown-up," Jon mumbles.

"You're being a moron."

"Great, we'll be morons together." Jon glares at him, which eventually makes the corner of Ryan's mouth quirk up.

"Touche'. Is that a challenge?"

"No. But are you really that scared of Brendon? I mean...it's Brendon, dude."

Ryan fidgets with cuff of his shirt for a long moment. "Fine," he whispers, and grabs his coat.

He pauses at the door and says over his shoulder, "Spencer acts like he's got this grand five-year plan, but honestly? He doesn't have a clue, especially since you came along. Nothing's set in stone."

Jon shuts his eyes and sighs. "Okay."

He doesn't move after Ryan's gone, just tucks his face into his arms and plays Ryan's words over and over again, overlapped with the image of the photography studio brochure and Bill's stern look of concern.

Jon suddenly digs his cell out of his pocket and texts Spencer.

come by the store 2nite

A minute later, he gets a response.

okay

*

Greta shows up again in the afternoon, this time with fresh scones.

"What's this for?" Jon asks, giving her a tentative smile.

"I saw you come in this morning looking really sad. Figured you needed some pick-me-up." She goes a little pink and adds, "Okay, and I also just really want us to be friends. Brendon told me that you're thinking of selling the store?"

Jon almost chokes on his first bite of scone.

She holds up her hand. "It's not what you think. It was really adorable, actually; he came in and basically begged us to stop 'being so awesome' and keep you in business."

He would throttle Brendon to death if he wasn't stupidly touched by all this. "I totally didn't put him up to that, I swear."

Greta laughs. "Trust me, I assumed as much. And I meant it when I said there's no reason we can't all co-exist, you know?"

"In a perfect world, that makes sense."

"It doesn't have to be perfect." She pats Jon's shoulder. "We're not the bad guys, Jon. And I don't want to see this store go away because of me and Bob."

And Jon suddenly feels like the biggest douchebag on the planet for calling them fascists.

"I...thank you," he says, and means it.

"We want to help, okay? Just let us know. And enjoy the scones." She gives him one last pat before she leaves.

*

Jon closes up for the tonight and sits at his desk, going over the day's tallies and ignoring the studio brochure still sitting next to his keyboard. He can still feel faint remnants of the headache he had earlier, when Gerard called his cell and said, "What the shit is this about you selling the store, Walker? Please tell me Ross is high." He then proceeded to tell Jon about how Kat's ghost would never let him live it down if he sells, because the dead do hold grudges.

He's rubbing at his too-dry eyes when a voice behind him says, "So Ryan stopped being stupid about Brendon?"

Jon smiles and doesn't regret giving Spencer his own key to the store. "Yeah, finally. Thank god, the angst was seriously getting annoying."

Spencer shrugs his coat off and tosses it over the arm of the couch. "It's a regular CW network up in here." He tugs a hand through his hair, and Jon realizes just how fucking tired Spencer looks.

He gets up and wraps his arms around Spencer's waist, tucking his face into Spencer's neck as he whispers, "Hey."

"Hey yourself." Spencer slips his arms around Jon's back, and they stand there like that for several minutes, just holding onto each other and not saying a word.

"You look like hell," Jon finally mumbles, kissing Spencer's jaw.

"And you don't look much better, so we're even." Spencer hugs him tighter. "So. I had an idea today."

"Just one?" He snuffles a laugh against Spencer's neck. "Geez, you must've had a rough day."

"Asshole, it's actually a good one." There's a pause, and Jon feels Spencer's chest expand slowly as he takes a deep breath. "I think you should hire me back."

Jon almost laughs, because he couldn't have just heard that. He's so tired he's delusional. "Yeah, right."

"I'm serious." He pulls back and looks Jon in the eyes, and oh god, he is serious. "I want to be your marketing manager."

Jon drops his arms altogether and stares at him, completely speechless. The office is suddenly very stuffy. "You...what? What about Belmont?"

"Look, I've spent all day thinking this over, and the bottom line is, you can't close this place. I won't let you. There's too much here, and if keeping you from selling the store means me staying here instead of going to Tennessee, then...okay." He blushes and slides a hand down Jon's arm, circling his fingers around Jon's wrist. "This store brought me you, so I'm kind of invested in it. And if you ever tell Ryan I said that, I'll deny it until the day I die."

There's a ringing in Jon's ears. He drops down into his desk chair and says, "Holy shit, I can't ask you to do this, Spence. It's bad enough I've fantasized about every possible way to keep you from leaving, but now - "

"You're not asking me to do anything, I'm offering." Spencer kneels in front of him, hands splayed on Jon's knees. "I got into the MBA program at the university weeks ago, I just wanted to hear from Belmont before I turned them down. But they offered me a TA position, too, which means I'll have some income on the side. You can pay me whatever you want."

"What about the whole music business thing, your internship?"

"The internship's for a grade, and I thought music business was what I wanted, but..." He smiles, that perfect, brilliant, heart-stopping smile that Jon swears could cure cancer. "You know, stubborn fuck. I can't let my boyfriend give up his dream."

Jon is impervious to not smiling back. "This was never my dream, you know that," he whispers.

"Maybe a few years ago it wasn't, but you wouldn't have put Bill off if you still wanted your own studio." He slides his hands higher up Jon's legs as he leans in to brush their mouths together.

"You're awfully presumptuous, Spencer Smith," Jon says, shivering as he parts his lips, licks into Spencer's mouth.

He gasps, pushing tighter into the V of Jon's legs, until his thumbs are framing Jon's crotch. "Is that a yes, I'm hired?" he asks breathlessly.

"I don't want to be responsible for fucking up your five-year plan." He's trying to stay serious, because this is everything right now, the store, Spencer's career, them. He has to be sure Spencer's not just taking pity on him.

"My five-year plan consisted of making sure Ryan got through grad school without dropping out to write the Great American Novel. I've almost succeeded." Spencer nips Jon's bottom lip. "So?"

"I'll think on it and get back to you." But then Spencer presses his palm against the very obvious curve of Jon's erection, making Jon whimper. "Fine, fine, you're hired, but this is sexual harassment."

Spencer licks slowly into Jon's mouth and grins. "You can ask me to stop at any time."

Jon drops his head back and groans, consenting defeat. "As your boss, I demand you not stop. Ever."

"I can manage that." He sits back on his heels long enough to open Jon's fly.

*

Bill calls him the next day.

"Have you thought about my offer?" he asks.

"Yeah," Jon says. "And the answer's no. Someone came along and gave me a better deal."

*

The idea comes to him the following week at Ray's house, and it's so obvious, Jon feels stupid for not thinking of it sooner.

He asks Tom to have Empires play at Between the Lines.

Tom grins. "Your store's pretty small, though, right? Do you even have the space for a drum kit?"

As much as it hurts to say out loud, Jon replies, "We're taking out the coffee bar, so there's gonna be more space for a band." After much debate with Spencer (and later, Ryan), they all came to the conclusion that the coffee bar should go. But now Jon's starting to think that having room for bands to perform might not be such a bad idea.

"The thing is, Alfred's gone back to school. We don't have a bassist at the moment."

Jon drums his fingers against his Fender and says, "I...could maybe fill in?"

Tom raises an eyebrow. "Maybe. I'll call the guys and see what they want to do."

From across the room, Mikey yells, "Hey, Walker, Pete wants me to ask you why Patrick's not answering his texts any more." He's frowning at his phone.

"How the hell should I know?" Jon yells back, although what he really wants to say is, Because he's feeling left out, and I don't blame him.

Tom hands him a receipt with an address written on the back. "That's Max's address, where we usually rehearse. If they're up for a gig, I'll call you and you can stop by to try us on for size."

"You mean, you guys can see if I suck hard or just mildly hard."

Tom lights a cigarette, and Ray promptly tells him to take it out on the balcony. "That, too."

Jon grins like a dork as he follows him outside to bum a smoke.

*

Spencer calls Jon in the middle of the day. "Guess what, I'm a genius."

"Your modesty isn't becoming, but okay." Jon puts his feet up on the counter and beams at his phone. "Why the sudden declaration?"

"Because I just talked Beloved Brew into catering all your music shows. And we're also getting thirty percent of their profits for the added bonus of advertising for them. It's not what you were making on the coffee bar before, but it's more than you're making now."

Jon almost falls out of his chair. "Holy shit, I love you."

He winces at the long, stunned pause on the other end.

"Spence? I didn't mean to - "

"I love you, too. But you probably already knew that."

He's so, so glad Ryan's in class and not able to see the stupid, gooey smile on his face. Gerard would understand, though. "Yeah, I did. But it's awesome hearing you say it out loud."

He can hear his stupid, gooey smile in Spencer's voice, too. "Ditto." He hangs up, and Jon realizes he's still got a spare key sitting in his underwear drawer at home.

*

Jon rehearses with the guys of Empires and it's the single most nerve-wracking thing he's ever done. He tries his best to read through the music, but his hands shake, and he's distracted by Tom and Sean and everyone else, wondering what they think of him, if he really does suck (he does, he knows he does, but still...).

They play through three whole songs, and when they finish up, Tom glances at Sean in a silent question.

Sean plinks out a random chord with his left hand on the piano. "Sure, what the hell, I've never played a bookstore before," he says, winking at Jon.

Jon does a very undignified little jig in relief.

*

The show is scheduled for a Friday night, and while Jon doesn't advertise too much due to the lack of space, people start showing up three hours early, before the rest of the band has even shown up for soundcheck. The coffee bar has been cleared out (put into storage, since Jon couldn't handle getting rid of it completely) and all the stand-alone shelves have been moved to the back of the store. There's as much room as there will ever be.

Greta arrives not long after the band starts to set up, and Jon has never seen someone so excited to cater in his life. She's like a blond, curly-haired ball of glee, and it's infectious; within fifteen minutes of setting up her small table with her Beloved Brew carafe and plates of blueberry muffins and chocolate chunk cookies, she's almost sold out. Jon watches in bemused amazement as Greta simply whips out her Blackberry and calls Bob for a restock.

Meanwhile, Jon is a nervous wreck; he's never been the one performing on music nights, and he's starting to realize how much easier it is to be behind the scenes. Ryan keeps giving him thumbs-up signs (with Brendon at his side - not draped across him like before, but still close, just not too close), and Gerard and Frank break into spontaneous chants of "Go Walker!" from the back of the room. Spencer still hasn't arrived, though, and Jon's not sure he can focus until he knows he's there.

But right as Sean takes the mic mounted over his keyboard and says, "Hey, we're Empires, featuring one Jon Walker, who happens to own this lovely establishment," Spencer slips through the door and into the crowd, pushing his way to the back to stand with Ryan and Brendon. He looks a little frazzled as he beams at Jon and mouths, "Good luck."

Jon can totally focus now.

He fumbles the beat a few times, and he momentarily forgets the chorus on "Believe!," but he feels confidence in his playing; it feels just like it did back in high school, only better, more. The store gets stuffy and hot fast, and even with the door propped open to let in the forty-degree air, they're still drenched by the time the set's over. But the guys are grinning, and the crowd goes crazy, and Jon thinks he made the right choice in turning Bill down. He thinks Kat would heartily approve of his decision.

*

The crowd clears out slowly - the band sells several dozen CDs, and Tom laments the fact that they didn't bring any merch with them. Jon puts his bass away quickly and makes his way to the back of the room, straight for Spencer.

"You're all sweaty and shit," he moans when Jon hugs him, and Brendon replies, "Dude, I am totally next in line for sweaty Jon Walker hugs."

There's a chorus of congrats and awesome show, and Jon would say it's a perfect night - except for when a very distraught Pete grabs his arm and says, "Dude, I - I think Patrick broke up with me."

Jon had almost forgotten about Patrick's angst. Almost. "What, why?"

"I don't know, okay, I tried to get him to come out to the show, but then when I told him Mikey was coming, too, he, like, hung up on me, and it's only gotten worse in the last few weeks, and I fucking knew something was going on with him, I just wish he'd fucking tell me - "

"God, Pete, stop." Jon puts both hands on his shoulders and says, slowly, "You need to have a talk with Patrick. He thinks you're somehow dumping him for Mikey and he doesn't have the guts to say it to your face, okay? That's all it is."

Pete looks utterly stricken. "What? That's...what?!"

"He thinks he's nonexistent around you two."

"But that's insane, he's Patrick. I'm lucky if I can even concentrate on anything when he's around. He's it - I love Mikey to pieces, but he's not my Patrick, what the fuck."

"Then go tell him that. Right now."

Pete books it out of the store like the place is on fire.

"Seriously," Spencer says against Jon's ear, pressing up along his back and looping his arms around Jon's waist. "Goddamn CW up in here."

"Not my fault," Jon replies, twisting around in Spencer's arms enough to kiss his cheek.

*

On the way home, Jon's phone buzzes with a text from Patrick.

pete says you guys were awesome tonight. sry i wasn't there.

The text is immediately followed by:

pete also says thks for the verbal kick in the ass :)

*

It feels vaguely like the night of the first Christmas party, only this time Jon and Spencer stand in front of Jon's apartment door, close but not quite touching. Jon can feel Spencer waiting for him to make the next move.

"You waiting on something?" he laughs, poking Spencer in the stomach with his keys. His clothes are still soaked with sweat and his beard is slightly damp, but he feels amazing, if a little gross.

"Maybe," Spencer replies, knocking Jon's hand away. "Maybe I don't want to ravage you in the hallway where your little old lady neighbors can see us."

"I only have one little old lady neighbor, and she's awesome. She has a kitten."

Spencer grins hard enough to scrinch up his nose. "Why you don't have fifteen zillion cats of your own, I'll never know. It's kind of tragic."

And just like that, Jon remembers the spare key and the question he still hasn't asked Spencer. He pauses in the process of unlocking his door and bites his lip, taking a deep breath.

"Would you get a kitten?" he asks softly.

Spencer frowns curiously at him, then shrugs. "Yeah, I suppose. I don't think I would now, though, not when I live alone. I'd want someone else in the house to keep it company."

Jon swallows, presses his key hard into his palm. "What about, like...buying a cat with me?"

"What, share it? That's too much work, and it'd probably traumatize the damn thing," Spencer laughs.

"No, I mean." He takes a step closer to Spencer, close enough to where he can count every freckle along Spencer's nose. "Buy a cat with me...and live with me. Together."

Spencer goes completely still. "You're - you're serious?" he whispers, eyes wide and searching, like there's even a chance Jon's joking.

"I've been serious about this for almost two months now." He splays a hand over Spencer's chest and kisses his chin. "I figure if Frank and Gerard can do it, so can we."

Spencer's mouth opens, then closes, then opens again. "Fuck," he finally breathes, and the next thing Jon knows, he's being shoved against his apartment door and kissed within an inch of his life.

"Is that a yes?" Jon manages to gasp when Spencer lets him up for air.

"That's a fuck-yes-and-I-love-you," Spencer replies, words mumbled against Jon's mouth as he fumbles the keys out of Jon's hand and unlocks the door. They stumble inside, and Spencer kicks the door shut behind them, stripping Jon out of his damp clothes.

"My lease, it's - it's not up until - "

"Until April, I know, I remember." Jon moans when Spencer licks over his chest, biting sharply at his neck. "It's okay, we can just wait - "

"I'll move some of my stuff over tomorrow. I'll move it all, I don't care." He pulls back enough to struggle with his dress shirt, not even bothering to undo the buttons. Eventually they end up at the doorway to Jon's bedroom.

Spencer spreads his hands over Jon's chest and pushes him toward the bed. "You were gonna ask me that night at the restaurant, weren't you?" he whispers in between deep kisses as he follows Jon down onto the bed, straddling his hips.

"I'd planned on it, yeah."

"Sorry 'bout that." Spencer rolls his hips, making Jon hiss loudly.

"It's okay, you're here now, and there should be less talk, I think." Jon wants his jeans off, he wants skin, but Spencer seems determined to get a rhythm started immediately. He grinds up against Jon, thumbs skimming over Jon's nipples, and shit, he's been running on too much adrenaline tonight to make this last long.

"S-slow down, can't - I'm gonna - "

"I know," Spencer whispers into his mouth, and it's all throaty and rough. "I want you to. Then we can spend the rest of the night fucking for as long as you want, because I'm calling in sick tomorrow."

Jon's got Spencer all night. And all tomorrow. And every day after that. He almost comes from that thought alone.

Eventually Spencer gets his slacks and Jon's jeans open enough to take both their cocks in hand, stroking them hard, fast, tight, exactly the right friction to make everything spiral out of control at lightning speed. Jon bucks into Spencer's hand, says his name, and comes in a hot rush, stars sparking behind his eyelids. He can tell by the way Spencer's grip jerks that he's not far behind, either.

He wants to fall asleep when it's over, but now he's completely gross and disgusting. "Shower," he mutters, kicking off his jeans and boxers and grabbing Spencer's hand to tug him into the bathroom. He melts against Spencer as soon as the hot water hits his back.

"Let's do this every night," he whispers through the quiet hum of the shower, nuzzling the soft spot just behind Spencer's ear. He slicks Spencer's hair back from his forehead and kisses over his cheekbones, the bridge of his nose.

Spencer smiles against Jon's cheek, hand tucked possessively over the small of Jon's back. "Sounds good to me."

*

He may not be singing Mary Poppins songs or imagining little cartoon birds flying over his head, but Jon knows the look on his face in the morning mirrors Frank's. He may not be surrounded by Disney creatures, but there are definitely hearts in his eyes.

Frank takes one look at Jon on his way out the door to work and says, "Holy shit, you got Spencer to move in with you!"

Jon bursts out laughing.