know what i always loved about jon? this fic i saved forever ago. it's locked now so i hope meg doesn't mind me c&ping. i doubt she will:
remember to sing along (895) // (PG) for we_are_citiesjune 05 07 (http://community.livejournal.com/we_are_cities/94707.html) prompt. started as comment!fic for castoffstarter and then grew. ish.
Jon picks up on the little tiny baby things about each moment, some days, and it makes his head swim with constant possibilities and the idiosyncrasies he knows he could only admire from a step away. He remembers being young mostly when he kisses Brendon, and he smiles into Brendon's mouth. At night he thinks about his brothers and their suits and ties, now, and how they're jealous of what he's got but he still feels that urge to keep up. He remembers them running fast out of the front door to get away from him, and the sound of shoes slapping pavement echoed a sort of rejection he hardly feels anymore. When he does, it's pushed away quickly by everything he knows for sure, like steady warmth of a body breathing next to him and hands and shoulders and eyes. At home he's nervous and can't quite sit still, and he aches with a feeling that nothing seems right. He doesn't feel like he exists there in quite the same way that he does when it's the four of them, and the first time he was at home for more than a couple days, it was overwhelming and he didn't get it, mostly tried to ignore and distract and keep busy. He never felt like he fit in, anyway, with his hand-me-downs and his ratty tennis shoes and eyes too honest-looking to be anything but.
The three of them aren't his favorite people, he doesn't think - not in some hierarchical way - but reevaluating is different outside the context of hometowns and friends since grade school, and the first time he thought about knowing Ryan, Spencer, and Brendon in any sort of permanent way he decided he'd like to be more himself, whatever that means. It was easy and sudden and he hadn't been expecting to fall in so easily, but he means more and says less, keeps better track of bad moods, and lets things slide without worry.
He didn’t realize he’d been doing it so well at first – not until he really thought about it, thought about things he’d tell Ryan (stories about summer heat and sneaking out of his house) that he wouldn’t tell his friends back home – and when he did finally realize, he didn’t care. It makes sense somehow, being removed from nine-to-fives and endless cups of coffee, and how much he likes being part of a whole, an us-against-the-world like he’s never had before in his life.
In Ohio, the middle of the summer with days stretching out endlessly in front of them, Ryan runs out of socks and decides on a trip to the laundromat. They’re all bored with two days off, and the air conditioning on the bus hasn’t worked right in weeks, so they pack up all their dirty clothes in garbage bags and make an afternoon of it. Jon gets his stuff in the washer first and hops up on a counter to watch the rest of them. Brendon pours too much detergent in, and Spencer sorts quietly. Ryan sets the alarm on his phone and they go outside, sitting down in the shade of the light brick building. It’s cooler there, a slight breeze ruffling Jon’s hair and thin t-shirt. He’s still sweating a little, the humidity hanging around them like a fog, but the grass is cool under his feet when he takes his flip-flops off. He has his iPod with him, one earphone in, Tom Petty playing quietly enough for him to just barely hear.
Brendon lies down on his stomach, grazing the grass with the tips of his fingers, while Spencer leans against the wall of the building and fixates on two young kids playing in the parking lot. A man sits nearby – their father – and one of them, a boy, rides a scooter around in circles, probably too fast and without much concern for safety. He stops after a while and starts trying to do tricks, little jumps over the curb and sharp turns. Jon watches Spencer watching the kid, and Spencer twitches every time the kid comes close to falling – a leftover symptom of being a cautious older brother. Brendon rolls over onto his back to rest his head on Jon’s thigh and watches the little girl sprint by to the door of the building. She runs back out a second later with a rubber ball from the quarter machine inside, and Jon catches Brendon smiling at her. She smiles back and holds up the ball between her thumb and index finger, proud and excited, and Jon combs his fingers over Brendon’s scalp.
They don’t talk for a long time, not until Ryan’s phone starts beeping and they make their way inside again. Jon feels like playing catch outside, finding a pool in town somewhere, or just lying in the grass for the rest of the afternoon, tracing over this pattern of dermal ridges on Brendon’s palm that looks like an eye. Mostly he feels completely, entirely included for one of the first times in his life. He’s never forgotten; just maybe a bit overlooked and has never been one for demanding attention, but now his existence is made up of moments when his stomach aches from laughing and he’s unsteady with exhaustion.
It’s been months and he still feels like he’s borrowing minutes from someone else’s clock.
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:D
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This is all I have on LJ:
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♥
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♥♥
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And because they are so bad ass:
Gotta stay true to the OTPs. <3
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(I know it's blurry, but I love this picture soo much!!) &hearts &hearts &hearts
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I wish this was bigger. :(
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They're such boyfriends here, I can't stand it.
(LOL HTML FAIL. AND I'M STUDYING WEB DESIGN; I SHOULD KNOW BETTER.)
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remember to sing along
(895) // (PG)
for
started as comment!fic for
Jon picks up on the little tiny baby things about each moment, some days, and it makes his head swim with constant possibilities and the idiosyncrasies he knows he could only admire from a step away. He remembers being young mostly when he kisses Brendon, and he smiles into Brendon's mouth. At night he thinks about his brothers and their suits and ties, now, and how they're jealous of what he's got but he still feels that urge to keep up. He remembers them running fast out of the front door to get away from him, and the sound of shoes slapping pavement echoed a sort of rejection he hardly feels anymore. When he does, it's pushed away quickly by everything he knows for sure, like steady warmth of a body breathing next to him and hands and shoulders and eyes. At home he's nervous and can't quite sit still, and he aches with a feeling that nothing seems right. He doesn't feel like he exists there in quite the same way that he does when it's the four of them, and the first time he was at home for more than a couple days, it was overwhelming and he didn't get it, mostly tried to ignore and distract and keep busy. He never felt like he fit in, anyway, with his hand-me-downs and his ratty tennis shoes and eyes too honest-looking to be anything but.
The three of them aren't his favorite people, he doesn't think - not in some hierarchical way - but reevaluating is different outside the context of hometowns and friends since grade school, and the first time he thought about knowing Ryan, Spencer, and Brendon in any sort of permanent way he decided he'd like to be more himself, whatever that means. It was easy and sudden and he hadn't been expecting to fall in so easily, but he means more and says less, keeps better track of bad moods, and lets things slide without worry.
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He didn’t realize he’d been doing it so well at first – not until he really thought about it, thought about things he’d tell Ryan (stories about summer heat and sneaking out of his house) that he wouldn’t tell his friends back home – and when he did finally realize, he didn’t care. It makes sense somehow, being removed from nine-to-fives and endless cups of coffee, and how much he likes being part of a whole, an us-against-the-world like he’s never had before in his life.
In Ohio, the middle of the summer with days stretching out endlessly in front of them, Ryan runs out of socks and decides on a trip to the laundromat. They’re all bored with two days off, and the air conditioning on the bus hasn’t worked right in weeks, so they pack up all their dirty clothes in garbage bags and make an afternoon of it. Jon gets his stuff in the washer first and hops up on a counter to watch the rest of them. Brendon pours too much detergent in, and Spencer sorts quietly. Ryan sets the alarm on his phone and they go outside, sitting down in the shade of the light brick building. It’s cooler there, a slight breeze ruffling Jon’s hair and thin t-shirt. He’s still sweating a little, the humidity hanging around them like a fog, but the grass is cool under his feet when he takes his flip-flops off. He has his iPod with him, one earphone in, Tom Petty playing quietly enough for him to just barely hear.
Brendon lies down on his stomach, grazing the grass with the tips of his fingers, while Spencer leans against the wall of the building and fixates on two young kids playing in the parking lot. A man sits nearby – their father – and one of them, a boy, rides a scooter around in circles, probably too fast and without much concern for safety. He stops after a while and starts trying to do tricks, little jumps over the curb and sharp turns. Jon watches Spencer watching the kid, and Spencer twitches every time the kid comes close to falling – a leftover symptom of being a cautious older brother. Brendon rolls over onto his back to rest his head on Jon’s thigh and watches the little girl sprint by to the door of the building. She runs back out a second later with a rubber ball from the quarter machine inside, and Jon catches Brendon smiling at her. She smiles back and holds up the ball between her thumb and index finger, proud and excited, and Jon combs his fingers over Brendon’s scalp.
They don’t talk for a long time, not until Ryan’s phone starts beeping and they make their way inside again. Jon feels like playing catch outside, finding a pool in town somewhere, or just lying in the grass for the rest of the afternoon, tracing over this pattern of dermal ridges on Brendon’s palm that looks like an eye. Mostly he feels completely, entirely included for one of the first times in his life. He’s never forgotten; just maybe a bit overlooked and has never been one for demanding attention, but now his existence is made up of moments when his stomach aches from laughing and he’s unsteady with exhaustion.
It’s been months and he still feels like he’s borrowing minutes from someone else’s clock.
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