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When the door shut, Spencer looked around the cluttered living room that, until moments ago, had been a place filled mostly with good memories. He walked over to the couch (where Jon had kissed him for the first time) and moved around some of the magazines on the coffee table. He sat down, stood up again, and didn't turn off the lights when he went into the hallway. (Jon hated complete darkness.)

He ran his hands along the baseboard (that Jon had helped him paint) and didn't look in the bathroom (where Jon had wandered into Spencer's shower that morning, smelling of coffee and sweat and the faint memory of sex). He closed his eyes going into his bedroom, not bothering to look because Jon's shoes weren't on the floor, his jeans weren't a haphazard pile next to them, and Spencer didn't have to step over a dirty t-shirt to climb into bed and pull the covers (that still carried Jon on them) over his head.

Spencer was not a dumb guy. Everything about the last two hours of his life screamed over over over, and for the first time in his twenty-two years he let himself feel so deeply that he gasped for breath until he couldn't breathe anymore.
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The hardest thing about closing the door behind him was looking at the blank beige wall that marked the other side of Spencer's door. They had joked so many times about Spencer living in a doctor's office, or an accountant's, while coming back here after a night out. The jokes were silly, not even that funny, but there was a hard burning in Jon's chest even at the thought of laughing with Spencer.

He wouldn't be doing that for awhile.

Jon wasn't lying to either of them. He knew he had fucked up here, that it came down on him in the end, but it didn't change the feeling of anger and sorrow at the way Spencer had just shut down. Jon didn't understand how Spencer could be so completely on one day and then so...blank the next. It was fucked up, is what it was, and Jon thumped his fist in frustration against Spencer's door before pushing off and moving down the corridor.

If that was how he wanted to play it, fine. Fine. Jon could shut down too, turn off all the memories and the happiness and the way Spencer had changed his life. He could do it because it wasn't worth remembering if Spencer wasn't around to share it with him.

As he walked down the stairs to the cold desert December below, he slapped at the half-lit Exit sign that always hung low enough for him to hit when he jumped. He heard it crash behind him, and didn't bother to look back and watch it break.

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