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Fic: shape the poet and the beat
shape the poet and the beat
gen, Jon-centric | 2180 words | PG
A chess game with Tom or tacos with his old high school bandmates doesn't really stand up to touring with Mark fucking Hoppus.
Why hello there, canon fic. Long time no see. :) Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
wordsalone, slowlikewine, and siryn99 for beta help.
It's not even a real bar, just a diner that only serves Coors Light and has the best apple pie Jon's ever had. There are a total of five booths in the place, and if you count Jon sitting by himself with his beer, the place is technically not empty.
It's strange how he feels like he's waiting on a date to possibly stand him up; he figures there's some truth to that, in a way. Brendon's text had simply said, we'll def. try to make it, and later Spencer wrote, pete really wants an AK appearance, which Jon translated to sorry, maybe next time.
A part of him really doesn't want to think about when the next time will be. It's not like they ever made frequent trips to Chicago even before the split.
He laughs to himself as he picks at the label on his bottle. He'd kind of hated Vegas, so maybe this really was for the best, after all.
His phone suddenly buzzes with a text. It's almost eleven o'clock, so Jon figures it's Nick begging him for the millionth time to come to AK for the after party, like Jon's totally the type to crash a party for a band that's no longer his.
But the text is from Brendon. Boo, it says, and when Jon looks up, both Brendon and Spencer are walking through the doorway of the diner.
Jon hasn't seen them in two months, not since early June, and definitely not in the flesh; he doesn't count Twitter pictures, even though they feel more real than anything else sometimes, like lost photos from his own camera. Brendon's hair is shorter, and Spencer looks almost too thin, like he did two summers ago when things at the cabin weren't working out. But back then he'd smoked too much and didn't eat; now Jon's pretty sure he still doesn't eat, but instead of smoking he's turned into a shiny-haired beach bum.
Or maybe he still does, Jon thinks as he spots a pack of Marlboros in Brendon's front pocket. Wild horses couldn't get Brendon to quit, but he's never liked smoking alone.
There's an awkward moment when they just sort of stare at each other for a moment, grinning hesitantly, and then Brendon laughs, says, "Jesus fuck," and makes a beeline for Jon's booth. He pulls Jon to his feet, wrapping his arms around him in a full-body hug. Jon can't remember the last time he got a hug like this, let alone one from Brendon.
"Pete let you guys skip out?" Jon mumbles into Brendon's hair before letting him go. He looks up at Spencer, who blushes a little over the bridge of his nose.
"We kinda just wanted to chill out," he says. "The show was fucking insane, and AK holds what, like five people?" Spencer smiles crookedly and shrugs. There are faint dark smudges under his eyes, and if Jon hadn't spent the last three years learning to signs of Spencer in fatigue mode, he'd never notice.
"Ten people if you ignore fire codes," Jon says. He slides both arms around Spencer, underneath his black blazer, and he can feel the way Spencer sighs and tips his head against Jon's temple, just barely, as he hugs him back. If Jon wanted to, he could rest his chin on Spencer's shoulder, but it's not really the time or place for that.
He orders them both a beer and gets a piece of pie to split three ways, until Brendon makes a face and says, loudly, "We've been stuck on a bus, Jon Walker, we don't split fucking pie!" Jon flips him off and orders two more pieces as Spencer laughs.
He doesn't talk about himself, because there's nothing to really talk about. The past few weeks have been nothing but backgammon and golf and fishing, with moments in between spent fucking around with his guitars and his dog. A chess game with Tom or tacos with his old high school bandmates doesn't really stand up to touring with Mark fucking Hoppus.
But it's okay, because he can tell that the guys want to talk about the tour—they want to show him that things are good, that all the guilt that's been riding on him for the past month and half wasn't necessary. Brendon's practically vibrating in the booth beside Spencer, talking with his hands, illustrating the crazier tour moments with quick swoops of his beer bottle. Spencer lets him talk, and every so often Jon can feel Spencer's eyes watching him, like he's gauging Jon's reaction to Brendon calling the tour "the best thing we've done in forever, seriously."
Jon smiles—really smiles—and says, "Obviously. You get Pete shenanigans on a daily basis, what's better than that?"
"Not much," Spencer says, and his own smile is more tentative.
"It's like, I know Ryan hated opening, but sometimes it's just freeing, y'know? I don't give a shit if a bunch of old school douchebag Blink fans think I'm a fag, it just makes me work for it harder, because they aren't there to love us unconditionally." Brendon twists his mouth to the side; Jon knows without looking that his knee is bouncing underneath the table.
"It's like starting from scratch," Jon replies softly. He glances up to see Spencer's smile get a little more wider, and he can't help smiling back. It still hurts, but they're not suffering. They're happy, and that's all they ever wanted for each other. That's all Jon wanted for them.
The conversation drops off, even though Jon can feel the questions in the air. He thinks about calling Ryan and putting him on speakerphone, just to say hi. Instead, he finally takes a deep breath and says, "I'm flying back out to LA tomorrow morning."
It's Spencer who perks up at the mention of California. "Yeah?" he says, and Jon almost laughs at how wistful he looks. "So Eric's done touring?"
"Yeah, he got back last week after Lolla. We were mostly just waiting on Alex to finish recording in New York." Jon hates the guilt he still feels, talking about his recording schedule, even though the songs are all but done, and Spencer and Brendon know it. They've heard most of them, anyway.
"How long until you're done?" Brendon asks. "Has Rob heard everything?"
"More or less. Mostly it's just keeping Ryan from tinkering around with shit until the songs are completely unrecognizable." God knows what he's done over the past few weeks while sitting alone in his studio. "I'm kinda worried I'll get out there and have an entire new album waiting for me."
Brendon laughs, high and bright. Jon's missed that sound more than he realized. "Dude, just lock him out of the studio next time you leave. Take the keys with you."
"Then he'd just find a way to break in, probably hack his fucking hand off in the process," Spencer drawls, raising an eyebrow at Jon as if to add, Tell me I'm wrong, seriously.
Jon salutes Spencer with his beer. "Exactly. And then he'd post pictures of it to Twitter, and then I'd be stuck explaining to the world why Ryan is bleeding out on the internet because he wanted to get to his guitars."
Brendon reaches across the table and musses Jon's hair. "Your life is hard."
He can feel his cheeks grow hot, a sudden rush of affection and melancholy filling his chest. Jon's never let himself regret his decision, but sometimes it feels like he's living the wrong ending of a story, that he'll wake up and it'll be early 2007 again and he'll feel like the whole world is open and his for the taking. But then he reminds himself that all he's ever wanted out of life was to write music and marry Cassie and just...be himself.
"I heard about Hoppus producing for you. That's awesome," he says, and he means it. Hell, he can only imagine the private glee fit Spencer probably had when they found out he'd signed on.
Like he's read his thoughts, Brendon beams at Spencer. "It's only a couple of songs, but yeah. The stalking on tour definitely helps."
Spencer rolls his eyes, but he laughs. "Shut the fuck up, he came to us."
"After you forced our demo on him."
Jon thinks Ryan would be proud, if he isn't already.
Spencer shoves Brendon playfully, then sighs. "The bad part is that now all I want to do is be in the studio, not on the road. Everytime Mark brings up recording, I just..."
"Start twitching?" Jon says, and Spencer nods.
"Dude, we've only got like a week or so left on tour, then we'll be home," Brendon says, smirking. "Then you'll just miss being on the road, because you're never fucking satisfied."
"I won't miss a damn thing once I can see the ocean again."
"That sounds almost romantic, Spence."
Jon grins at Spencer's snort. But then Spencer meets his eyes and says very seriously, "How long are you going to stay at Ryan's?"
Jon shrugs. "We meet with Rob on Wednesday, and I think he's got his schedule cleared for us for the next few weeks at least."
Spencer chews his lip for a second, glancing at Brendon. "Mark's on tour through September, so we probably won't be seriously recording anything with him until after that. Everything else until then is just writing time." He tips his head to the side and adds, softer, "You should come out to our place with Ryan, we could grill or something." He doesn't say anything about it being Ryan's birthday soon, or his own birthday, but Jon knows he's thinking about it.
"We could do that," Jon says slowly, his heart beating a little faster. He hasn't been to Brendon's (and Spencer's, Jon keeps reminding himself) house in months, and he misses the dogs and the smell of sea salt and the grit of sand everywhere, even in the couch.
"Spence bought the new Madden and he sucks at it, you could totally kick his ass," Brendon says, laughing when Spencer fakes a glare at him.
"I suck when I'm the fucking Seahawks, thanks a lot." He gives Jon a sheepish look. "I only had it, like, a day before tour started."
Jon holds his hands up. "Hey, you know I'm a MLB guy, I'm totally not judging you."
Brendon's about to thoroughly argue the merits of XBox over PS3 when his phone gets a text. "Pete says we're failing at PR and to get our asses to AK," he says. "Oh, and..." He holds his iPhone out for Jon to read.
say hi 2 jwalk
Jon laughs. "Better get your asses down there. Maybe you'll actually catch Nick and DeMar finally making out."
Brendon says, "Dude, sweet," at the same time Spencer says, "DeMar??" in a horrified voice.
Christ, Jon misses them. Has missed them. Will always miss them.
"You wanna come?" Brendon asks, but they all know the answer. Jon appreciates the thought, though.
"Naw, I got a puppy home alone with two cats. Gotta make sure they don't set the place on fire."
Jon pays the tab (even though he catches Spencer throwing a twenty on the table for "tip") and walks them out to the sidewalk.
"So...I'll see you in a few weeks?" Jon says, tugging a hand through his hair.
Brendon wraps his arms around Jon in another tight hug. "Definitely," he whispers, pressing his nose into Jon's neck for a brief moment. "You know you're both always welcome there, right?"
Deep down, he does, but Jon likes hearing Brendon say it out loud.
Spencer hugs him a little longer this time, a little harder. Jon goes up on his toes and lets his forehead rest on Spencer's shoulder.
"There's a tech on tour who looks like you," Spencer says softly, his lips against Jon's temple. "Zack calls him Fake Jon." His hands flex slightly against Jon's back.
"Poor bastard," Jon whispers back, and Spencer laughs before they break apart.
"Have a good flight tomorrow, tell Ryan we said hey," Brendon says. For the first time that evening, Jon finally catches a hint of melancholy in Brendon's voice.
"Sure. Good luck with the rest of the shows."
Spencer gives him a tiny salute, his shoulders rising and falling on a silent sigh. "Night, Walker."
Brendon presses his palm to his mouth and blows him a kiss.
Jon simply waves as they turn and walk away, the streetlights shining off Spencer's hair. He watches as Brendon bumps his shoulder into Spencer's, his left hand flailing around a bit as he says something that makes Spencer look over at him and smile.
Jon watches them until they turn the corner and disappear from sight. He rubs his hand over his cheek as he takes his phone out of his pocket and posts to Twitter.
oh blah dee oh blah dah. good night, chicago.
gen, Jon-centric | 2180 words | PG
A chess game with Tom or tacos with his old high school bandmates doesn't really stand up to touring with Mark fucking Hoppus.
Why hello there, canon fic. Long time no see. :) Thanks to
wordsalone, slowlikewine, and siryn99 for beta help.It's not even a real bar, just a diner that only serves Coors Light and has the best apple pie Jon's ever had. There are a total of five booths in the place, and if you count Jon sitting by himself with his beer, the place is technically not empty.
It's strange how he feels like he's waiting on a date to possibly stand him up; he figures there's some truth to that, in a way. Brendon's text had simply said, we'll def. try to make it, and later Spencer wrote, pete really wants an AK appearance, which Jon translated to sorry, maybe next time.
A part of him really doesn't want to think about when the next time will be. It's not like they ever made frequent trips to Chicago even before the split.
He laughs to himself as he picks at the label on his bottle. He'd kind of hated Vegas, so maybe this really was for the best, after all.
His phone suddenly buzzes with a text. It's almost eleven o'clock, so Jon figures it's Nick begging him for the millionth time to come to AK for the after party, like Jon's totally the type to crash a party for a band that's no longer his.
But the text is from Brendon. Boo, it says, and when Jon looks up, both Brendon and Spencer are walking through the doorway of the diner.
Jon hasn't seen them in two months, not since early June, and definitely not in the flesh; he doesn't count Twitter pictures, even though they feel more real than anything else sometimes, like lost photos from his own camera. Brendon's hair is shorter, and Spencer looks almost too thin, like he did two summers ago when things at the cabin weren't working out. But back then he'd smoked too much and didn't eat; now Jon's pretty sure he still doesn't eat, but instead of smoking he's turned into a shiny-haired beach bum.
Or maybe he still does, Jon thinks as he spots a pack of Marlboros in Brendon's front pocket. Wild horses couldn't get Brendon to quit, but he's never liked smoking alone.
There's an awkward moment when they just sort of stare at each other for a moment, grinning hesitantly, and then Brendon laughs, says, "Jesus fuck," and makes a beeline for Jon's booth. He pulls Jon to his feet, wrapping his arms around him in a full-body hug. Jon can't remember the last time he got a hug like this, let alone one from Brendon.
"Pete let you guys skip out?" Jon mumbles into Brendon's hair before letting him go. He looks up at Spencer, who blushes a little over the bridge of his nose.
"We kinda just wanted to chill out," he says. "The show was fucking insane, and AK holds what, like five people?" Spencer smiles crookedly and shrugs. There are faint dark smudges under his eyes, and if Jon hadn't spent the last three years learning to signs of Spencer in fatigue mode, he'd never notice.
"Ten people if you ignore fire codes," Jon says. He slides both arms around Spencer, underneath his black blazer, and he can feel the way Spencer sighs and tips his head against Jon's temple, just barely, as he hugs him back. If Jon wanted to, he could rest his chin on Spencer's shoulder, but it's not really the time or place for that.
He orders them both a beer and gets a piece of pie to split three ways, until Brendon makes a face and says, loudly, "We've been stuck on a bus, Jon Walker, we don't split fucking pie!" Jon flips him off and orders two more pieces as Spencer laughs.
He doesn't talk about himself, because there's nothing to really talk about. The past few weeks have been nothing but backgammon and golf and fishing, with moments in between spent fucking around with his guitars and his dog. A chess game with Tom or tacos with his old high school bandmates doesn't really stand up to touring with Mark fucking Hoppus.
But it's okay, because he can tell that the guys want to talk about the tour—they want to show him that things are good, that all the guilt that's been riding on him for the past month and half wasn't necessary. Brendon's practically vibrating in the booth beside Spencer, talking with his hands, illustrating the crazier tour moments with quick swoops of his beer bottle. Spencer lets him talk, and every so often Jon can feel Spencer's eyes watching him, like he's gauging Jon's reaction to Brendon calling the tour "the best thing we've done in forever, seriously."
Jon smiles—really smiles—and says, "Obviously. You get Pete shenanigans on a daily basis, what's better than that?"
"Not much," Spencer says, and his own smile is more tentative.
"It's like, I know Ryan hated opening, but sometimes it's just freeing, y'know? I don't give a shit if a bunch of old school douchebag Blink fans think I'm a fag, it just makes me work for it harder, because they aren't there to love us unconditionally." Brendon twists his mouth to the side; Jon knows without looking that his knee is bouncing underneath the table.
"It's like starting from scratch," Jon replies softly. He glances up to see Spencer's smile get a little more wider, and he can't help smiling back. It still hurts, but they're not suffering. They're happy, and that's all they ever wanted for each other. That's all Jon wanted for them.
The conversation drops off, even though Jon can feel the questions in the air. He thinks about calling Ryan and putting him on speakerphone, just to say hi. Instead, he finally takes a deep breath and says, "I'm flying back out to LA tomorrow morning."
It's Spencer who perks up at the mention of California. "Yeah?" he says, and Jon almost laughs at how wistful he looks. "So Eric's done touring?"
"Yeah, he got back last week after Lolla. We were mostly just waiting on Alex to finish recording in New York." Jon hates the guilt he still feels, talking about his recording schedule, even though the songs are all but done, and Spencer and Brendon know it. They've heard most of them, anyway.
"How long until you're done?" Brendon asks. "Has Rob heard everything?"
"More or less. Mostly it's just keeping Ryan from tinkering around with shit until the songs are completely unrecognizable." God knows what he's done over the past few weeks while sitting alone in his studio. "I'm kinda worried I'll get out there and have an entire new album waiting for me."
Brendon laughs, high and bright. Jon's missed that sound more than he realized. "Dude, just lock him out of the studio next time you leave. Take the keys with you."
"Then he'd just find a way to break in, probably hack his fucking hand off in the process," Spencer drawls, raising an eyebrow at Jon as if to add, Tell me I'm wrong, seriously.
Jon salutes Spencer with his beer. "Exactly. And then he'd post pictures of it to Twitter, and then I'd be stuck explaining to the world why Ryan is bleeding out on the internet because he wanted to get to his guitars."
Brendon reaches across the table and musses Jon's hair. "Your life is hard."
He can feel his cheeks grow hot, a sudden rush of affection and melancholy filling his chest. Jon's never let himself regret his decision, but sometimes it feels like he's living the wrong ending of a story, that he'll wake up and it'll be early 2007 again and he'll feel like the whole world is open and his for the taking. But then he reminds himself that all he's ever wanted out of life was to write music and marry Cassie and just...be himself.
"I heard about Hoppus producing for you. That's awesome," he says, and he means it. Hell, he can only imagine the private glee fit Spencer probably had when they found out he'd signed on.
Like he's read his thoughts, Brendon beams at Spencer. "It's only a couple of songs, but yeah. The stalking on tour definitely helps."
Spencer rolls his eyes, but he laughs. "Shut the fuck up, he came to us."
"After you forced our demo on him."
Jon thinks Ryan would be proud, if he isn't already.
Spencer shoves Brendon playfully, then sighs. "The bad part is that now all I want to do is be in the studio, not on the road. Everytime Mark brings up recording, I just..."
"Start twitching?" Jon says, and Spencer nods.
"Dude, we've only got like a week or so left on tour, then we'll be home," Brendon says, smirking. "Then you'll just miss being on the road, because you're never fucking satisfied."
"I won't miss a damn thing once I can see the ocean again."
"That sounds almost romantic, Spence."
Jon grins at Spencer's snort. But then Spencer meets his eyes and says very seriously, "How long are you going to stay at Ryan's?"
Jon shrugs. "We meet with Rob on Wednesday, and I think he's got his schedule cleared for us for the next few weeks at least."
Spencer chews his lip for a second, glancing at Brendon. "Mark's on tour through September, so we probably won't be seriously recording anything with him until after that. Everything else until then is just writing time." He tips his head to the side and adds, softer, "You should come out to our place with Ryan, we could grill or something." He doesn't say anything about it being Ryan's birthday soon, or his own birthday, but Jon knows he's thinking about it.
"We could do that," Jon says slowly, his heart beating a little faster. He hasn't been to Brendon's (and Spencer's, Jon keeps reminding himself) house in months, and he misses the dogs and the smell of sea salt and the grit of sand everywhere, even in the couch.
"Spence bought the new Madden and he sucks at it, you could totally kick his ass," Brendon says, laughing when Spencer fakes a glare at him.
"I suck when I'm the fucking Seahawks, thanks a lot." He gives Jon a sheepish look. "I only had it, like, a day before tour started."
Jon holds his hands up. "Hey, you know I'm a MLB guy, I'm totally not judging you."
Brendon's about to thoroughly argue the merits of XBox over PS3 when his phone gets a text. "Pete says we're failing at PR and to get our asses to AK," he says. "Oh, and..." He holds his iPhone out for Jon to read.
say hi 2 jwalk
Jon laughs. "Better get your asses down there. Maybe you'll actually catch Nick and DeMar finally making out."
Brendon says, "Dude, sweet," at the same time Spencer says, "DeMar??" in a horrified voice.
Christ, Jon misses them. Has missed them. Will always miss them.
"You wanna come?" Brendon asks, but they all know the answer. Jon appreciates the thought, though.
"Naw, I got a puppy home alone with two cats. Gotta make sure they don't set the place on fire."
Jon pays the tab (even though he catches Spencer throwing a twenty on the table for "tip") and walks them out to the sidewalk.
"So...I'll see you in a few weeks?" Jon says, tugging a hand through his hair.
Brendon wraps his arms around Jon in another tight hug. "Definitely," he whispers, pressing his nose into Jon's neck for a brief moment. "You know you're both always welcome there, right?"
Deep down, he does, but Jon likes hearing Brendon say it out loud.
Spencer hugs him a little longer this time, a little harder. Jon goes up on his toes and lets his forehead rest on Spencer's shoulder.
"There's a tech on tour who looks like you," Spencer says softly, his lips against Jon's temple. "Zack calls him Fake Jon." His hands flex slightly against Jon's back.
"Poor bastard," Jon whispers back, and Spencer laughs before they break apart.
"Have a good flight tomorrow, tell Ryan we said hey," Brendon says. For the first time that evening, Jon finally catches a hint of melancholy in Brendon's voice.
"Sure. Good luck with the rest of the shows."
Spencer gives him a tiny salute, his shoulders rising and falling on a silent sigh. "Night, Walker."
Brendon presses his palm to his mouth and blows him a kiss.
Jon simply waves as they turn and walk away, the streetlights shining off Spencer's hair. He watches as Brendon bumps his shoulder into Spencer's, his left hand flailing around a bit as he says something that makes Spencer look over at him and smile.
Jon watches them until they turn the corner and disappear from sight. He rubs his hand over his cheek as he takes his phone out of his pocket and posts to Twitter.
oh blah dee oh blah dah. good night, chicago.
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And A+++ for mentioning Nick and De'Mar, lol.
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Actually, I totally love the fic too.
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Thanks for sharing!
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*sighs and wanders off to bed*
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this is exactly how I want it to have happened, at least they can still be friends
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God, this is my personal canon. Awkward and hurty, but so hopeful.
Also, this reminded me of the impending b-days and I really, really hope we get birthday shenanigans. Words are good and well, but we want pictures, preferably with smiles and hugs. Put us out of our misery already, you silly boys!
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"It's like starting from scratch," Jon replies softly. He glances up to see Spencer's smile get a little more wider, and he can't help smiling back. It still hurts, but they're not suffering. They're happy, and that's all they ever wanted for each other. That's all Jon wanted for them.
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Just the right amount of ache and the right amount of hope. Perfect. ♥
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Thank you for this.
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