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"God, Ross. I know you have a hard on for the Beach Boys, but that sound has come and gone, man."
Ryan looked a bit grumpy. This was not the first time they'd had this argument, and while Brendon was trying to lighten the mood by joking about it, Ryan seemed irritated about not being taken seriously. "I was just thinking like Pretty. Odd. but less folky and more beachy."
"And I was thinking that's fucking stupid," Brendon said. There was a smile in his voice but the sentiment remained, heavy and uncomfortable in the air. Spencer cringed.
"Whoa, hey, Bren. You don't have to be rude about it."
Brendon turned and raised his eyebrows at Jon. Now was not the time for his, 'I'm older so you have to listen to me' act. The only people who could really get away with that anymore were, like, Zack. And all of Fall Out Boy. And Brendon's dad when he called to lecture about health insurance and fiscal responsibility (Brendon tended to hand the phone to Spencer during those conversations, because Spencer got along well with Brendon's dad. He took him seriously, called him 'sir,' and knew what a 401k was).
"What?" Brendon asked Jon. "So you're taking his side?"
"I like the idea of a beach album." He sounded slightly apologetic about it, but the set of Jon's shoulders and the look on his face made it apparent that he wasn't about to be bullied into changing his mind.
"Spencer?" Brendon asked, but Spencer raised his hands up in surrender and shook his head.
"We've had this argument a dozen times. You know what I think."
"It's two against two then," Ryan said, his hard glare directed at Spencer as if asking how his best friend since childhood could possibly be doing this to him. Spencer frowned and kept his head down, eyes downcast, and arms crossed.
Brendon sighed and flopped back on the bus couch. "Yeah. Two against two."
"I love the Beach Boys as much as anyone else, but really Spencer? Really?"
Brendon cocked a caterpillar eyebrow and held a jewl case up between his fingers. The case had a kaleidoscope effect going with surf boards and flashy cars and a pretty girl's eyes. He had these ridiculous diva sunglasses perched on his head and was rocking an open-in-the-front white button up shirt that had probably been Jon's once upon a time. Maybe Spencer should have been jealous seeing his boyfriend in another man's shirt. Maybe he would have been if it had been anyone else but his ex-bandmates. Maybe Spencer was just weird.
Either way, Brendon looked "damn sexy," to quote Ryan from 2004. Spencer quoted Ryan kind of a lot, a result of sharing Ryan's brain for the better part of his twenty-six years on Earth.
He wondered how Ryan was doing.... They hadn't talked in a while, and hadn't seen each other for even longer. Spencer's mom probably knew more about what Ryan was up to than Spencer did right now.
"This proves it," Brendon declared, breaking Spencer out of his thoughts and pushing the cassette in, switching away from whatever oldie's rock classic had been humming through the radio. "Walker was a bad influence on you."
The first song burst out in groovy harmonies. "Let's go surfing now everybody's learning how..."
"I'm texting Ryan about this," Brendon said.
"About what?" Spencer wondered. About the ironic situation probably; Ryan had poured his heart and soul into making The Young Veins with Jon, and here Brendon and Spencer were driving home from the beach with their wet suits bundled in the back seat, their surf boards strapped to the top of Spencer's mini van, and the Beach Boys playing in the tape deck.
"I love this car," Brendon said, patting the dash board and grinning. Spencer loved it too. It had been a gift from his parents forever ago, back before they'd been recruited by Pete Wentz and dropped out of high school to join the circus. Spencer had driven his van since he'd gotten his license. There was golden retriever hair stuck in the back seat that would never come free. Spencer picked his little sisters up from countless dance lessons in this van. He'd driven the thing when he'd had that awful pizza delivery job- a purple eyesore of a minivan with a Dominos Pizza hat propped on top.
This van had gotten them all the way to Maryland and back, and now that Spencer was a real adult and a rockstar, he could definitely afford an upgrade. He just didn't want one.
"Me too," he said, agreeing with Brendon.
"I love you," Brendon replied, smiling at Spencer with giant pleading eyes the way he always did, bottom lip caught in his teeth like he was scared Spencer wasn't going to say it back. That he wasn't going to mean it.
Spencer hated that someone had made Brendon feel that way, and he hated even more that one of those people was his best friend.
"I love you too." Spencer took his hand and gave it a squeeze just to see Brendon smile like the sun the way he tended to.
"Post surfing burritos?" he offered.
Brendon whooped and let go of Spencer's hand to throw his own in the air. "Post surfing burritos!"
The backseat of Spencer's ancient tag-along minivan had an embarrassing amount of burrito wrappers.
"Then when we get home, we should have fun sex," Brendon said, nodding along as he spoke as if agreeing with himself. Spencer rolled his eyes.
"Brendon. All sex is fun sex."
"But kinky sex is the funnest sex," Brendon argued. There was no winning this one. They'd had this conversation half a dozen times since they'd stopped blushing so much and started 'experimenting in bed.'
Spencer hated that phrase. It made him feel like they were some middle aged couple instead of two dudes in their twenties.
"Oh my God."
"Is that a no?"
"No. Yes, we can."
"Consent is very important, Spencer. Remember safe, sane, and consensual-" Spencer pulled up to a stop light and immediately leaned over the center consol to kiss Brendon and shut him up. How the guy had this much energy after hours of surfing, Spencer had no idea. It was exhausting.
He wouldn't have it any other way.
Spencer wrecked the van.
He'd been out at a press meeting without Brendon, who hated press meetings and was hiding out at home with a headache. Someone not paying attention drifted all the way into Spencer's lane and would have hit him head on had Spencer not jerked the wheel to the side, lost control of the car, and wrapped his beloved minivan around a tree.
Nobody was hurt. Spencer had a sprained wrist that Brendon was taking very seriously ("You're a drummer, Spencer!"), but that was the extent of it. More than anything Spencer was bummed out about his van. He'd been with it for ten years, and then he'd killed it.
Spencer didn't deserve nice things.
He was moping over it probably more than was acceptable. He was an adult. He should have just gotten over it, but that was his van.
Brendon knew he was in a bad mood of course. Brendon was like a sponge when it came to people's emotions, the Poster Boy for empathy the way he picked up and reflected how people were feeling. That only made Spencer feel worse though. His sulk was making Brendon sad. Brendon didn't deserve to be sad, and Spencer didn't deserve nice things.
Three days into Spencer's personal pity party found them in the kitchen making dinner. Brendon was chopping vegetables while Spencer thickened the sauce for their lemon chicken. He'd seen the recipe online, and it looked amazing. And then the song came on.
The first few notes came and Brendon's head snapped to look at Spencer, who scowled and said, "No." It was a moot effort. Brendon did this every time the song played ever since Spencer had proposed to him.
As expected, Brendon stared Spencer down and lip synced the words, "Dear future husband...."
"No," Spencer said again, but there was no stopping him. Brendon mouthed the intro, and when the beat picked up he started shaking his hips and dancing around the kitchen. He sang along fully now. Spencer worked to keep the smile off his face and his expression grumpy.
It only partially worked. How could it when his fiance was bouncing around their kitchen singing about buying groceries and being treated like a lady with the dogs prancing around his feet and two day old stubble decorating his jaw, rocking a church camp t-shirt he'd had for years with a pair of Spencer's basketball shorts nearly falling off of his hips.
He danced closer to Spencer, who was adamant, mind you, but somehow when Brendon grabbed his hands and pulled him along for the second chorus, Spencer danced along with him- a bouncy two-step Brendon had wanted them to learn for the wedding, whenever that was.
"Future husband, better love me right," Brendon said, and Spencer wrapped him up tight in his arms and kissed him breathless.
"It's not the Beach Boys," he teased when they came up for air. "But it'll do."
Later that week, after a painful day of car shopping and the purchase of a 2012 Honda, Spencer found a CD sitting on his front seat. There were surf boards and cars and pretty blue eyes looking up at him. Spencer smiled and ran back inside to kiss Brendon.