Prologue:
The towel had been white once, but after one too many battles with Ryan Ross’s stage makeup, it had turned a sickly grey-green. Ryan half-thought that was a good metaphor, maybe something he could use in a song, before deciding, no. It was just a dirty towel. He scrubbed at his face, trying to wash off the black circles around his eyes for a full five minutes before he realized that they weren’t makeup. They were just what happened when you hadn’t slept for three days. He sighed and was about to fold up the towel and put it in his makeup bag when he realized that this was it: the last show of the tour. He held the towel up and saluted it as he solemnly said, “Your service has been honorable and brave, but we have come to a parting of the ways”. He tossed it into the garbage can, grabbed his bag, and headed for home.


A bit of recommended background reading:
Recently, Ryan has been having this problem which he thinks of as The Spencer Thing. (The Spencer Thing (n): a situation wherein one has inappropriate feelings for one’s best friend who happens to be named Spencer.) He knows when it happened (right between the 15th pound that Spencer lost and Ryan’s third haircut), but he doesn‘t know why. He tries to tell himself it’s just the result of close quarters and his current lamentable lack of a girlfriend, but that doesn‘t quite ring true, because he doesn’t really feel like this about Jon or Brendon. And he definitely doesn’t feel this way about Zach.

The whole thing is extra strange because they‘ve been best friends practically forever. Ryan likes to tell people that he and Spencer once pricked their fingers and became blood brothers, and each time he says it, he thinks it might even be true. He tries to ignore the little voice in his head that argues that he probably just read it in a book somewhere, because he really likes the idea. And after all, what kind of writer would he be if he didn’t romanticize his life story? Being blood brothers has resonance in a way that ‘yeah, we used to play power rangers when we were seven’ just doesn’t. It means something.

Ryan doesn’t like this situation. It makes him feel sick actually, not because ‘he’s a boy’ or anything stupid like that, but because it’s all so unbalanced. It messes up his equilibrium and gives him vertigo, because Ryan kind of loves Spence but Spencer just loves Ryan.

And because of that inequality, there are all these other things that don‘t even out now. He’s never sure if he’s meeting Spencer’s eyes too often or not often enough., if there’s too much space between them on the couch, or if he‘s sitting too close. His life has suddenly become a series of measurements and incredibly involved formulas where X = the number of inches between his own spidery fingers and Spencer’s thigh and Y = the time in seconds Ryan had been studying Spencer’s profile before getting caught and trying to play it off. The end result was always the same: Ryan berated himself for being so completely obvious and vowed not to do it again, usually managing to keep the promise for roughly 3 minutes.

So, there’s that, and that‘s pretty lame, that’s bad enough, but as they say on infomercials, wait, there’s more! See, Ryan’s the son of a casino dealer; he’s always known to play his cards close to his chest, but once in awhile his hand slipped. And for fifteen years, Spencer had been the one there to bear witness. He’s heard every sick secret and seen every dark moment, and he doesn’t forget easily. Even when Ryan stands in front of a girl, his clothes in a pile on the floor, he doesn’t feel as naked as he does when Spence says “Hey, do you remember the time…”

Ryan’s always afraid he’s going to say something like, “Hey, do you remember the time you punched a hole in your window?” Spencer drove his beat-up Buick to the hospital at 2 AM to pick him up after he got five stitches. Ryan chewed on his lip until it bled as oncoming headlights swept across his face and they’d driven to the Smiths’ house in absolute silence. He remembers the way the heater was broken and how cold it had been. (Spencer had said he wasn’t getting it fixed because this was the fucking desert and besides, he didn‘t have the money, and wouldn‘t it be awesome when they were famous rock stars and could buy a sweet new car anytime anything broke?) Spencer’s breath hung in the air and Ryan kept wishing he’d thought to bring a warmer hoodie because he couldn’t stop shivering.

When he reached to turn on the radio, because he couldn’t take the silence anymore - he got enough of that at his goddamn house, Spencer said, “It’s broken too,” so Ryan started talking, just so there’d be some noise, and then he couldn’t stop. He told him everything and he cried. Spencer pulled over to the side of the road, and Jesus, he fucking cried into his shoulder, and just thinking about it now makes his stomach churn. Spencer had listened and then put an awkward hand on his back and said “I‘m sorry,” which wasn’t exactly what Ryan needed to hear, but it somehow helped anyway.

The window never got fixed and he still has a small scar on the back of his hand and sometimes when he’s messing around on the bus, trying to work out a guitar part, he sees Spencer looking at it and tries to turn it away. That’s actually how he came up with that diminished E flat that he put in their new song and he’s thinking of maybe calling it In Love With My Best Friend (I’m Most Certainly Not).

He hates knowing that Spencer has seen him like that, weak and pathetic, but there’s this other thing too, which makes the embarrassingly emo histrionics on that night seem ok by comparison.

See, Spencer was there on That Night, the one time in his entire life when Ryan had gotten drunk. At work, someone had brought in an emaciated dog with a broken leg and ribs smashed by steel toed boots and he’d had to hold it while the vet euthanized it. And then he‘d gone to pick up his girlfriend and she said she didn‘t really feel like hanging out tonight and in fact, she didn‘t really feel like hanging out with him at all, ever again. When he finally got home after two hours of arguing in her driveway, it was to an empty house and a blinking answering machine with a message asking him to call the hospital.

So he’d grabbed a bottle of Jack from the kitchen and poured it into a Disneyland mug that touted its status as THE HAPPIEST PLACE ON EARTH!!!. He’d posted a deeply dramatic and poetic LJ entry, the raw power of which was slightly diluted by somewhere around 100 typos, and when Spencer called to see what was up, he’d told him to come over.

To be honest, Ryan’s not completely clear on the rest of That Night, but he thinks he remembers talking about how it was such a fucked-up world and girls totally weren’t worth the trouble and no really, he kind of liked boys too, seriously, and he definitely remembers the frown on Spencer’s face after Ryan had suddenly lurched across the couch and kissed him. He’s also pretty sure he remembers Spencer mumbling something about “plenty of other fish” and then “Ryan…don’t” and he remembers downcast eyes that wouldn’t meet his, and vomiting and waking up on the bathroom floor, feeling like he might die, though from the hangover or embarrassment, he’s never been sure.

The past:
So the whole thing was Something Of a Problem really, there was all this history and it was really kind of distracting and annoying, but Ryan was dealing and it was fine, just fine. Or at least it was until the night when Spencer’s girlfriend stayed on the bus. It was late, but Ryan was half-asleep, getting ready to roll over onto his side, when the bunk above him creaked as someone’s weight shifted. He froze. An interminable minute later, a whispered, “Spencer, we can’t” drifted below the curtain. Ryan wholeheartedly agreed. They couldn’t. They just couldn’t, because he didn’t think he could fucking take it. Brendon was one thing; he always made it a point to make sure the whole bus knew when something was happening in his bunk. Hell, he practically fucking narrated for them, and Ryan had quickly learned that if a pretty girl was hanging around the lounge at 2AM, he should bring his iPod to bed with him unless he wanted to fall asleep to the soothing strains of Brendon’s current number one hit, “I‘m fucking you SO! HARD! UGH!”. But exhibitionism was not Spencer’s style. He was always in control and under wraps and Ryan thought this was really the most fucking inopportune time for him to change it up.

Ryan’s agnostic, or maybe an atheist (he always got them confused), but he threw up a quick prayer anyway, promising that if He would stop this from happening, Ryan would totally be good for the rest of his life and would give all of his royalties to charities oh, and he would definitely stop being a wicked sodomite if only He’d just STOP THIS SHIT RIGHT NOW.

He was just wrapping up his prayer with an “Amen”, when he heard a soft “Oh God.” For a confused millisecond, he thought he’d spoken out loud, before realizing that it had come from above him. The bunk shifted again, and in a gap between the slats, Ryan could see the mattress denting down beneath Spencer’s knees. There was the soft sound of kissing and then Spencer breathed out “I love you,” and Ryan thought he’d never heard anything so obscene.

They were trying to be quiet, he could tell, and he hated himself for the way he strained to hear, for trying to picture exactly what each sound was. He was painfully hard, but absolutely refused to do anything about it. It would be so completely wrong. He definitely would not touch himself while listening to his best friend having sex he vowed, as his traitorous hand slipped inside his boxers. Ryan Ross never had much in the way of willpower.

Ryan’s pretty sure that he crossed a line that night, and that’s why he hasn’t been sleeping. He’s a little freaked out because, well for one thing, he’s not actually gay, per se. And for another thing, it’s Spencer. Spencer! Also, he’s really kind of stressed about writing the new album, and he’s pissed because this whole situation would be just perfect to write lyrics about, but he can’t because he has to keep it secret and what the fuck is the point of a tragic unrequited romance if it doesn’t make the whole world cry?


The past: part ii</i>
It was 3PM and Ryan had finally managed to fall asleep on the couch when he was rudely awoken by the doorbell. He stumbled to the door, meeting Spencer’s far-too-cheerful “Hello, Gorgeous!” with a bleary-eyed “Hey.” Spencer came in, knocking Ryan against the wall with the bags he was holding.

“My mom says you need to eat,” Spencer said, handing Ryan a bag that smelled delicious, before walking into the kitchen. “Well, she says we both do. God, you should have come to dinner last night, she was all ‘You boys just don’t eat on the road and I saw a special on the tv and it said that boys can be anorexic too and I’m worried about you and Ryan and that Brandon boy. Why don’t you have some more pie, Spence?’. She‘s insane.” Ryan smiled and pulled a plate out of the bag while Spencer opened the cupboard above the oven and grabbed two glasses, then a Sprite from the nearly-empty fridge.

When Ryan had filled a plate with food, he followed Spence up to his room, thinking that it was really kind of stupid to go up to his tiny room with the 13 inch tv when the whole house was empty and there was a perfectly good big screen in the living room, but that gave him a weird heavy feeling in his chest, so he just followed Spencer’s clunking footsteps up the stairs the same way he had a thousand times before.

Spencer flicked on the TV as Ryan sat on the bed, balancing his plate precariously on his knee. “So when are you selling the house?” Spencer asked, his voice kind of hesitant, like he wasn’t sure if this conversation was allowed.

“Soon,” said Ryan. “I mean, this is the first time I’ve really been home since…”

“Yeah,” finished Spencer. They sat for a few minutes, Ryan chewing turkey that didn’t taste as good as it had a minute ago, Spencer flipping channels on the remote before settling on a made-for-tv movie that looked like it would be big on morals, but small on watchability. “It’ll be weird, won’t it?” Spencer said suddenly, staring intently at a Bright Eyes poster that had half fallen off the wall, revealing the grease stain from the blu-tak that had held it up.

Ryan thought he really didn’t want to be having this conversation right now. In fact, he didn‘t really want to have this conversation ever. His stomach did that familiar twist, wondering if this was the time Spencer was going to say something. If this was the time Spence would say that he knew. “What will?” he asked, although he knew exactly what he meant.

“Just. I don’t know. Everything’s changed, you know. And it’ll be so weird when I can’t just walk down the street and see you.” Spencer stood up and started walking around, picking up a book from the shelf then setting it down, taking a pencil from the desk and then twirling it around his fingers like he always did with his drumsticks. Ryan watched him spin it, over the tops of his knuckles, in between, underneath, then he dropped it, and stared where it had fallen. Ryan knew exactly what this was; this was what writers called “a pregnant pause” and he realized Spencer wouldn’t ever say he knew, because he didn‘t. Ryan had to say it, to spell it out for him, and he knew that if he was going to do it, it was now now now or never.

“It won’t be that different, really. I mean. You know I love you, right?” Ryan said, stabbing at a green bean with his fork. The metal squeaked against the plate and he could hear his pulse thudding in his ears and he thought that it might drown out Spence’s answer.

“Yeah. I know. I love you too,” Spencer said, but Ryan could tell he wasn’t getting it. He wasn’t hearing what Ryan was saying. Ryan thought frantically about how he could explain, how he could get his point across and Jesus, wasn‘t he meant to be a writer? He should definitely, definitely be better with words than this. He could just kiss him, but that was such a fucking cliché. Actually, this whole situation was such a fucking cliché and it just wasn’t going to work and Ryan knew it, but had to give it one more try…

He raised his eyes and looked at Spencer, who was staring out at the backyard through the part of the window that wasn’t covered in duct tape and cardboard. “Do you?” Ryan asked, quietly.

Spencer turned to him and crooked an eyebrow. “Yeah. If you were a chick, I’d totally do you,” he said, letting out a sniff of a laugh. “Hey, I brought you a present,” he said, apparently finished with all of this introspective talk.

Ryan wanted to grab Spencer by his shirt and yell, “It’s not a fucking joke, you idiot!”. Instead, he said, “Yeah, ok.” Spencer handed him a small package, and he opened it to reveal a video game.

“I’m gonna kick your ass at this one too,” Spencer said. “That’s one thing that’ll never change.” He was smiling, but Ryan thought he saw a twitch in his jaw and a shadow in his eyes and for a minute, he thought that he was wrong. Spencer knew. He knew exactly what Ryan meant. But then he was saying “Well, are we going to play or what?” and Ryan realized it didn’t really matter one way or another. He’d gotten over every other person he’d ever loved. He’d get over this too.

They played the game for an hour, talked about who they’d seen since they got back in town (John Cooper who Ryan thought must totally be on steroids and Staci Fleming who said Spence should totally come see her at work and gave him a card with the name of one of the off-strip strip clubs), who’d gotten pregnant (Kathy Connor, who Ryan dated for about 15 minutes during freshman year), and who’d gone to jail (Jim Russert; possession with intent). Eventually, Spence’s phone beeped; his mom wanted him home, stat, because his sister was crying in the bathroom and she didn’t know why, all she’d said was that plastic surgeons were doing wonderful things these days but Spence was her favorite, so could he come talk her out of the room, because really, some people needed to use the toilet.

Spencer rolled his eyes and told Ryan he’d better come over tomorrow because his family man, seriously. “I’m a mere mortal, Ryan,” he said. “I need help”. Then he pulled on his jacket and headed for home.

Ryan walked him out, watched as he walked down the pavement instead of cutting across the lawn (thought that somewhere in the back of his head, Spence must remember the day Mr. Ross had berated him for 20 minutes for walking across the freshly planted lawn), watched him turn right and become indistinct. Ryan kept looking down the street after him, and for one brief moment, in the glow of a streetlight he thought he saw two boys pressing their fingers together, a drop of blood falling from between them. He swallowed and looked away.