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Fic: Anyone Perfect Must Be Lying (Jon's Bookstore II) (1/3)
Anyone Perfect Must Be Lying (Jon's Bookstore II) (1/3)
Jon/Spencer, Frank/Gerard, Ryan/Brendon, Pete/Patrick | 15200 words | R
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.
Happy Birthday to my wonderful, insanely amazing![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
imntsaying. I present you with more bookstore AU that's probably ridiculous, but definitely full of love. Lots and lots of love. ♥ I hope you like it!
For anyone who hasn't read Jon's Bookstore I, it might help to do so before reading this. Many, many thanks togobsmackit, sweetrecovery, and siryn99 for kicking my ass on this fic. *g*
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.
*
part 2
Jon/Spencer, Frank/Gerard, Ryan/Brendon, Pete/Patrick | 15200 words | R
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.
Happy Birthday to my wonderful, insanely amazing
imntsaying. I present you with more bookstore AU that's probably ridiculous, but definitely full of love. Lots and lots of love. ♥ I hope you like it!For anyone who hasn't read Jon's Bookstore I, it might help to do so before reading this. Many, many thanks to
gobsmackit, sweetrecovery, and siryn99 for kicking my ass on this fic. *g*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.
*
part 2
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That said, OMG YAY! *FLAILS* Will read after work tomorrow. :D