Fandom: Bandom, P!ATD
Pairing: Brendon/Spencer, Dallon/Breezy
Summary: ""Oh, no, man. People get their coffee or tea, you've got students with their laptops, they're gonna want you to feed them, man. You've got this great kitchen back there." Pete says. Spencer frowns some more, because he doesn't know the first thing about cooking.
"If you don't, you're totally gonna get spanked by Starbucks." Pete points out. "Don't worry, Spence, Patrick knows a guy.""
Length: 2200 wordsish
Warnings: BDEN AND SPENCER OWN A COFFEE SHOP, DALLON HITS HIS HEAD A LOT.
Notes: And in the continuation of me spamming my flist and clearing out my drafts folder, more things I wrote for merelyn- wherein Spencer just wants to have a coffee shop and instead he gets Brendon.
Spencer is more or less functionally dependent on coffee. And three office jobs' worth of being the only one allowed to make coffee and three office jobs' worth of hating everything about them other than making coffee made Spencer think that maybe he should get a job making coffee.
Frugal is a gross sounding word, but Spencer's been smart about his money and he has good credit, so he walks into Pete Wentz's office feeling pretty confident. That being said, Pete is utterly insane, but the places he shows Spencer are more or less decent and more or less in his idea of price range, so Spencer's willing to overlook that. He's not really sure what he's looking for, but after he declines a couple of bland, commercial storefronts, Pete just narrows his eyes at him, hails a cab and drags them down to the Village. He finds Spencer's coffeeshop around a corner, in a long, whitewashed stretch of room, with dusty bay windows and a counter that Spencer likes.
"I think I'll take it," Spencer says, already imagining what it'll look like, clean and painted. Pete grins.
"Now, that's more like it," Pete says, pulling out papers. "So, are you going to be like, a coffee and cookies place, or like a coffee and pastries place?" Spencer frowns.
"Just coffee," he reminds Pete. Pete chuckles and shakes his head.
"Oh, no, man. People get their coffee or tea, you've got students with their laptops, they're gonna want you to feed them, man. You've got this great kitchen back there." Pete says. Spencer frowns some more, because he doesn't know the first thing about cooking.
"If you don't, you're totally gonna get spanked by Starbucks." Pete points out. "Don't worry, Spence, Patrick knows a guy."
"Don't worry, Spence, Patrick knows a guy" translates to Spencer anxiously scrubbing down the walls as he waits for "bden", whoever the hell that is.
"Hello?" A male voice calls, as the obnoxious bell that Spencer keeps forgetting to take off the door dings cheerfully. Spencer abruptly wishes his hands weren't soapy and dirty- it'd probably help him feel less stupid.
The guy- "bden"- has floppy dark hair and the sort of thick rimmed glasses Spencer only sees on the L train. He's wearing a bow tie and Spencer doesn't even know what's happening.
"Hey," Spencer says belatedly, remembering that customarily, you're supposed to return a greeting. "You must be-" Spencer pauses, because he doesn't know if he can manage calling this guy "bden" to his face. The guy grins.
"Brendon Urie." he chirps, bouncing on the balls of his pink keds as he extends a hand to shake. Spencer looks sort of dubiously at his soaking wet hands, holding a filthy rag, and Brendon follows his line of vision and laughs, unselfconsciously, drawing his hand back. "Sorry, man. Here, let me-" Brendon grabs one of the dry towels from the toolkit, passing it to Spencer.
"Spencer Smith," Spencer offers, drying his hands quickly. They shake hands, and Brendon's hand is warm and dry- especially in comparison to Spencer's own damp, slick palm. "I, uh, don't have any furniture yet, but um."
They end up sitting on the counter, talking about what they'd want out of a business, and Spencer finds himself strangely charmed by the way Brendon talks with his hands, the way he talks about feeding people. And the fact that he brought a messenger bag's worth of food ideas doesn't hurt.
"Huh," Spencer says, looking at the tupperware full of scones. "That was clever." Brendon grins.
"I am chock-full of good ideas, Spencer Smith," Brendon assures him. Spencer raises an eyebrow.
"That so?" Spencer asks, too-comfortable with a guy he met less than an hour ago. Brendon waggles his eyebrows like the quirky, wise/sassy grandfather in a 30's screwball comedy.
"Yep. I'm the brain, you're the looks, we're going to be rich." Brendon proclaims cheerfully. Spencer thinks he's blushing, which is weird and terrible.
"I haven't tried the food yet," Spencer points out. Brendon rolls his eyes, but he leans over and pops the lid off the container. Spencer breaks a corner off one of the scones and puts it in his mouth and starts chewing.
"Oh my god, we're going to be rich," he mumbles, most of the scone still in his mouth. Brendon grins smugly.
"That's what I've been telling you."
Spencer anticipated that Brendon would be a good business partner, but he didn't anticipate that Brendon would become his best friend.
But he does.
It seems sort of inevitable, in retrospect- the long hours spent together, getting the shop ready to open, getting stuck in Red Hook after the world's longest IKEA trip- which is good, because Spencer kind of feels like if they hadn't gotten along so seamlessly, he would have murdered Brendon.
Pete drops by a day or two after they open, part of a fairly promising early mid-morning crowd.
"What'd I tell you, huh?" Pete grins, and Spencer rolls his eyes, and comps Pete's coffee. "But you're starting to look a little ragged, bro. You need to get some help." Spencer's about to ask Pete if he thinks Spencer hasn't looked in a mirror and seen the bags under his eyes, but Pete keeps going.
"Don't worry, bro." Pete assures him. "I know a guy."
Spencer is going to turn Pete down, but then he remembers that Pete brought him Brendon, and he lets Pete Wentz direct his life some more.
Dallon shows up the next morning and Spencer hires him on the spot.
"Spence, did you get me a present?" Brendon calls from the kitchen. "Because if you did, I want him to come back here and help me take these pans out of the oven."
Dallon calmly nods, and with Spencer's direction, heads toward the kitchen and hits his head on the door frame for the first time.
It's sort of like they got a labradoodle.
Dallon smacks his head maybe three more times in the first week he works at the shop- which they're still just calling "Coffeeshop", even though Ryan keeps texting him improbable suggestions like "Coffee! in the Village" because he's really not kept busy enough at his job. Despite his immanent concussion, Dallon picks up everything perfectly- which is more than Spencer can say for Brendon, who he still hasn't let touch the espresso machine since the debacle with the whip cream can.
Everything's going along really well, which makes Spencer sort of twitchy.
"You're ridiculous," Brendon says, during the slow lull after the caffeine addicts of the neighborhood have crawled out of their offices around 3pm to sustain themselves through the rest of the workday. Dallon is manning the till as Spencer hides from his neuroses where the customers can't see him, watching Brendon pull some kind of delicate-looking pastry thing that he doesn't wholly understand out of the oven.
"You always get like this when more than three people order tea." Brendon chuckles, putting the tray on the counter and slapping Spencer's hand away in almost the same motion. "They're too hot."
"It's god, just disgusting," Spencer mutters, nursing his hand and his wrongs. Brendon grins, sly, from where he's slipping a long spatula under the pastries carefully to move them to the cooling rack.
"Not everyone likes coffee, Spencer," Brendon says, coy and his shoulders are shaking, just a little bit.
"Blasphemer," Spencer mutters, because they've had this conversation a thousand times. Brendon grins.
"I like tea," Brendon tries, and Spencer just points a finger in his face.
"Stop it." Spencer threatens. Brendon's smile is small and private and when he slips Spencer a thingy- "a palmier, Spencer,"- Spencer can't help but grin back.
The first time Ryan comes into the shop, Spencer's actually sort of holding his breath.
He gets a latte and one of Brendon's lemon poppyseed muffins- the ones that make Spencer think that he should be going to the gym a lot more often- and sits in the window seat. After a moment, Spencer gives up and sits across from Ryan.
"Well?" he asks, sort of desperate for Ryan's approval in a way he hasn't been since they were 16 and he needed to know if his concert outfits were okay.
"The walls are pink," Ryan says, but he's smiling and the muffin is disappearing in steady pinches as Ryan plucks them off. "Amaranth. Or Peony."
"God, I fucking know," Spencer agrees, because really, he knows, he's just lost the ability to let it bother him.
"It's Moroccan Red," Brendon opens with, dragging over one of the other chairs. "Hi, I'm Brendon, you must be Ryan."
"I kind of think it's purple-y, myself," Dallon calls from the counter. Spencer resists the urge to bury his face in his hands.
"I like your vest," Ryan finally concludes, and Spencer breathes.
Spencer's windexing the bay windows and the door when Dallon and Brendon come through the kitchen doors in an explosion of noise. Dallon's sulking and making weird hissing noises, his hand over his forehead and Brendon sounds like an extremely concerned pigeon.
"I'm fine," Dallon grumbles. Brendon clucks.
"Stop, let me see it," he cooes, like he's trying to trick a child into eating vegetables. Dallon finally sighs and moves his hand and holy shit, that's blood.
"What the hell happened to him?" Spencer asks, dropping the bottle and rag on the nearest table before hovering in a fashion probably equally annoying to Dallon.
"Nothing," Dallon says, but it's overshadowed by Brendon immediately saying, "He got in a fight with the trashcan out back."
Spencer doesn't know whether to laugh or cry.
"Thanks," Dallon growls, which is fair, because Spencer's mouth is twitching in a pretty obvious way.
"I'm just saying, we don't offer insurance. And you hit your head." Spencer points out. "A lot." Brendon elbows Spencer, hard, but not really painful, right in the side.
"Shh, he's bleeding, Spence." Brendon huffs, solicitously still pressing a clean rag against the cut. "We can make fun of him when I put the Hello Kitty band-aid on."
Dallon still has the Hello Kitty band-aid on the next morning and gets a lot of attention for it, but it also means that Spencer can't take anything he says seriously.
So when Dallon leans against the table where Spencer is doing the books, nominally wiping down the table next to his- all while Spencer is busy trying to ignore Brendon giving away cookies to an au pair and twin four year olds- it's a little lacking in gravitas.
"So, don't fire me or anything, boss," Dallon starts out, which- not promising- "But why haven't you hit that?" Dallon gestures with his children's-character-band-aid-covered head toward Brendon, who is solemnly shaking hands with one of the little girls.
"Yeah, because that'd be a good idea," Spencer says quietly, but he's suddenly and uncomfortably aware that that's pretty much the only thing stopping him. Dallon is about to say something probably equally unsettling and too insightful, when the girls head out and Brendon darts around the counter to grab Spencer by the hands, puling him up and spinning them around.
"Oh my god, Spencer, babies, cute little girls, Spencer, you let me get a Dallon, can we get a baby?" Brendon begs.
"See?" Dallon says, and Spencer thumps back into his seat, hard.
"Jesus Christ," he mumbles. Brendon perches lightly on Spencer's lap.
"Would want you to let us get a baby for the shop." Brendon says, before slipping back behind the counter as one of their college kid regulars come in.
"I'm just sayin'," Dallon continues to wipe down the already clean table, smug as shit.
"Jesus fucking Christ," Spencer says, letting himself bury his face in his hands for once.
They don't get a baby.
Instead they get a dog.
Brendon finds Bogart in their alley, taking out the recycling. He sort of half-heartedly puts fliers up, just in case he's someone's pet, but by the end of the week, Bogart has taken up permanent residence in the shop. Well, Brendon takes him home at night, but Bogie is there everyday, just like him and Dallon and Brendon. Spencer doesn't even pretend to grumble when Brendon leans over his shoulder and points out how their sales have gone up since they proved to be "pet friendly".
"I told you I was full of good ideas," Brendon says, but then he drags them all out drinking, because it's their "three and a half month anniversary of business, Spencer, it's important to remember your anniversaries, that's what keeps the magic alive!" Dallon brings Breezy, and Spencer brings his suspicion that he's going to say or do something stupid.
Around his fourth drink, Spencer finds himself leaning into Brendon and saying "Sometimes I think I'm kind of in love with you. And your scones are making me fat."
Brendon stares at Spencer for a long second and Spencer's thinking about having a panic attack when Brendon blurts out, "I don't even like coffee," and kisses him fiercely.
Pete drops in around their "totally six months and three days-iversary", with the elusive Patrick in tow.
"So, was I right or what?" Pete asks expansively, shit-eating grin wide on his face as he plays with Bogart while Brendon endeavors to make Patrick sample everything on the menu.
"Fine," Spencer caves. "Free coffee for a month."
Brendon grins at Spencer over the counter, and Spencer reconsiders.
"Okay, maybe for life."
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