The Frivolous Constellations of Our Souls

It starts- well, technically speaking, it starts in Spencer’s grandmother’s living room, when they are teenagers playing at being rock stars and they hear Brendon sing for the first time.

Ryan’s messing about with something on his guitar but when Brendon’s voice breaks through the air his head snaps up like a marionette and he stares at Brendon like he’s never seen him before. Spencer glances up too, but he’s not looking at Brendon.

Brendon’s voice peters out when he notices that everyone’s just sort of stopped what they were doing. “What?” he asks, shifting on the spot.

Ryan says, finally, “You didn’t tell us you could sing.” There’s something different in his voice that Spencer’s never heard before and Brendon bites his lip, toeing the ground at his feet.

“Sorry?” he says, voice lifting uncertainly at the end. His arms wrap themselves around his middle and he hugs himself tight.

“Here,” Ryan says, stepping forward. He hands Brendon the sheet with the rest of the lyrics to the song they’re practising on it. “Sing it.”

Brendon looks startled, like Ryan’s just told him to cut out his tongue or something. “I- really? I wasn’t trying to- I mean, this isn’t- it’s just something I do, it’s not-”

“Brendon,” Ryan says, “you’re a better singer than me.” He says it flatly, without any emotion at all, but Spencer knows what it costs him to admit it. “Sing it.”

And Brendon does, hesitantly at first, but by the time he finishes the first verse, his eyes have closed and his voice has picked up and Spencer’s never understood the phrase ‘singing your heart out’ before – he’s a drummer, he deals in beats and rhythm not melody and song – but he thinks he might just have an idea. Brendon sings like it’s the only thing that matters to him, like it’s everything that matters to him, his entire face lighting up with what looks kind of like joy from the moment he opens his mouth to the moment it closes.

When he finishes, Ryan stares at Brendon for what must feel like an eternity to the two of them but is actually less than a minute. Then he says, gaze still fixed on Brendon, “Brendon’s gonna sing now.”

Ignoring Brendon’s feeble protests, Ryan pushes him towards the mic and steps back, clutching his guitar. They start up again pretty much instantly, except this time it’s Brendon’s voice singing Ryan’s lyrics and it’s- it’s weird, it’s definitely weird, but it should feel more wrong than it does. Spencer doesn’t know what that’s supposed to mean, so he ignores the wrongness that isn’t and pounds the shit out of his kit.

When the practice is over, he goes over to Ryan and hugs him hard, pulling away after a few seconds. (They’re not big huggers, not really, but Spencer figured this was as good a time to make an exception as any.) Ryan quirks a smile at him before turning to Brendon and Spencer leaves them to it, recognising the hand on Brendon’s arm, the almost feverish gleam in Brendon’s eyes. He hopes distantly that they actually leave before they do anything.

After that practice, Ryan and Brendon start showing up together more and more often, Ryan looking smug and Brendon all rumpled and mussed and kind of awestruck, like he can’t believe his luck. When Spencer raises his eyebrows at the two of them, Brendon blushes and bites his lip and glances at the floor and Ryan just smirks.

They don’t tell anyone they’re dating for another three weeks but they don’t exactly do a very good job of hiding it either. Brent’s suspicious by the end of the first week and Spencer knew from the first time they met Brendon (before Ryan did, even) so it’s not like he’s surprised when Ryan slings an arm around Brendon one day and says, in a voice that would sound bored to anyone who hadn’t known Ryan nearly all their life, “Me and Brendon are dating now. Anyone got a problem with that?”

Brendon glows for the rest of the practice and his voice is even stronger and more powerful than usual. Spencer catches Ryan grinning to himself at least five times; he doesn’t think he’s ever seen him this happy.

(Spencer’s not surprised, but something still twists in his gut anyway, something unpleasant and painful and very, very wrong, and it gets pushed to the back of his mind where he keeps all the things he refuses to think about.)

So technically it did start then, when they were kids with no idea what they were getting into, but for all intents and purposes, it really starts in the cabin years later, after they’ve lost a Brent and gained a Jon and are trying to work on their second album. It’s a night just like every other, except for how it’s not like any other, because it’s the beginning of the end.

***

Spencer’s lying in bed, earphones jammed tight in his ears to block out the sounds of his bandmates down the hall. He gave up on sleep hours ago, when he heard the first choked-off moan that was uncomfortably familiar after spending two years touring together in enclosed spaces.

Brendon and Ryan have been at it ever since. Seriously, Spencer didn’t know either of them had this much stamina; they’re like fucking rabbits.

Heh, Spencer thinks, stifling a snigger, fucking rabbits. But then Ryan moans again, louder and lower like he does when he’s just about to come, and Spencer winces because that kind of innuendo is nowhere near as funny when it’s actually true. He rolls over, away from the noise, turning up the volume on his iPod as far as it’ll go, and resigns himself to not getting any sleep for the foreseeable ever.

The next morning, Ryan manages to coax the four of them into the practice room because he’s written this “awesome song, guys, seriously, you have to play it so you can see.” To say that it’s not going well would be an understatement.

“Fuck’s sake, Brendon,” Ryan snaps when he interrupts practice for what seriously feels like the fifteen millionth time. “Your voice is complete shit today. Can you at least try and hit some of the notes, please?”

For a moment, Spencer thinks Brendon’s just going to smile tightly and carry on like he always does but then he raises his chin, defiant. “Maybe if you hadn’t wanted to fuck my throat last night, Ross,” he says, “I might actually be able to sing something outside your vocal range.”

Before Ryan can snap back a retort, Brendon storms out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him. A moment later, Ryan stomps out too, muttering darkly under his breath, but he goes in the opposite direction.

Jon turns to look at Spencer and Spencer sighs, pushing a hand through his hair. “See if you can calm Brendon down,” he instructs. “I’ll sort Ryan out.”

Jon gives him a mock-salute before ambling in the direction Brendon went. Sighing, Spencer heads after Ryan and tries not to wonder how many times they have to go through this.

He finds Ryan outside, leaning back against the wall and scowling at the floor, and goes to stand next to him.

“He said he could take it,” Ryan mutters, after a few minutes of silence. “He shouldn’t have let me if he knew it was gonna fuck with his voice like that.”

Spencer rolls his eyes but doesn’t say anything. He’s a good friend like that.

“I’m not being completely unreasonable, am I?” Ryan’s still glaring at the floor like it has wide brown eyes and sticky up hair and a stupidly massive grin. “He was shit. Fuck, we were all shit and we’re not getting any better.”

Spencer shrugs. “We’ll get there,” he says. (They will, Spencer knows it, knows Ryan knows it, deep down. This isn’t like last time, when they couldn’t get through a day without screaming at each other. It’s better, they’re better, and they’re gonna be okay. Spencer has faith in them, even if Ryan never seems to, but Ryan thinks he has more to lose.) “You can’t force it, Ry, that isn’t how creativity works. Fuck knows you’ve told me that a million times.”

Ryan’s lips quirk into a rueful smile. “We’re gonna have to, though,” he says softly. “We’ve been in the cabin for weeks and we’ve scrapped everything we’ve managed to get remotely done. All we do is smoke weed and watch movies.”

“And play video games,” Spencer adds helpfully. “And smoke more weed.”

Ryan glares at him. “Point is, we’ve done fuck all and there’s an entire fucking record to make and we’re not gonna be able to fucking do it if we don’t fucking-”

“Ryan,” Spencer interrupts, pre-emptively terminating Ryan’s verbal freak-out before it has a chance to fully manifest, “all of that is a perfectly legitimate reason to be worried but it’s not an excuse to be a dick to your boyfriend.”

Ryan blows out a breath before looking up, sheepish. “I know. It’s not his fault... well, not just his fault. We haven’t exactly helped things, what with, you know-”

“Fucking each other senseless every free minute you get?” Spencer supplies, helpful as ever. Ryan glares at him again, because he’s just unappreciative like that. Spencer doesn’t know why he bothers, sometimes. “You two kept me up all night, fucker.”

Ryan arches an eyebrow. “Spencer,” he says, affecting horror, “were you listening to us?” He shakes his head. “Your perverted voyeurism disgusts me.”

Spencer rolls his eyes. “Your relentless sexual appetite disgusts me.”

“Sorry,” Ryan says, sudden and soft, and Spencer knows he isn’t apologising for not letting Spencer get any sleep, or for being a horny bastard who puts his dick before his brain.

“I’m not the one you should be apologising to,” Spencer says, and Ryan looks away, biting his lip. “He’s not invincible, even if he acts like it sometimes. He isn’t immune to the shit people say, even you. Especially you.”

“Yeah,” Ryan says flatly. “I know.”

Spencer nudges him in the side with his elbow, gentle but insistent. “So go apologise,” he says. “Tell Brendon you’re sorry and then have lots of angry make-up sex. Me and Jon’ll go for a walk or something, give you some time alone.”

Ryan smiles at him, and Spencer feels something strange tugging in his chest. “Thanks, Spence,” he says softly.

“No problem,” Spencer says, squeezing Ryan’s shoulder. “Don’t leave it too long, yeah?”

“I won’t,” Ryan promises, shaking his head earnestly. He waves Spencer away when he heads back inside in search of Jon.

Spencer hears the guitars the minute the door shuts behind him and he makes a beeline for them, the sound of Brendon and Jon’s voices getting louder as he approaches the living room. He could be mistaken, but he thinks they’re singing-

“A whole new world,” Brendon’s crooning, a hesitant smile tugging at his lips, “a new fantastic point of view, no one to tell us no or where to go or say we’re only dreaming-”

“-a whole new world,” Jon chimes in, grinning when he catches sight of Spencer in the door, rolling his eyes, “a dazzling place I never knew, but now from way up here, it’s crystal clear, that now I’m in a whole new world with you.”

Spencer comes all the way into the room and plonks himself down on the sofa, tapping the familiar rhythm against his thighs. Brendon grins too when he notices Spencer, but doesn’t stop singing ‘til they reach the end of the song.

“Maybe we should do a musical,” Spencer says when the last echoes of the chords have died away. “Like Singing in the Rain or something,” he adds quickly when Brendon’s face lights up, “not Disney.”

“Boring,” Ryan says from the door. The three of them jump and Spencer wonders how long he was standing there, watching. “How about a musical about wolves, though? That could be pretty cool.”

Spencer arches an eyebrow. “Wolves?” he says, incredulous.

“Yeah, like, we’re lone wolves, doing our own thing, but we still need the rest of our pack to keep us going, right?” Ryan says, sort of desperately. “It’s a metaphor.”

It’s kind of a silly metaphor (and not an entirely subtle one, either) but Spencer sees the way his eyes flick to Brendon at the end, wide and hopeful, so he lets it pass without ridicule and gets to his feet.

“Come on, Jon,” Spencer says, grabbing his sleeve and hauling him upright. “I think our lone wolf needs to talk to his mate.”

Ryan shoots Spencer a grateful smile but when he’s halfway out the door, Spencer turns back around and says, sharply, “Don’t have sex on the couch, though, I’m serious,” and the smile promptly turns into a scowl. Brendon’s still laughing when Jon shuts the door behind them.

“So, Spencer Smith,” he says, “what’s the plan?”

Spencer shrugs. “I don’t know, but they’re definitely gonna have sex somewhere and I really don’t want to be around for that.”

Jon studies him for a few moments, eyebrows furrowed into something thoughtful, but then he breaks into a grin and says, “Wanna smoke up on the roof?”

“Fuck yeah,” Spencer replies fervently, and follows him up.