overanalyzing the manifestations of the unconscious - fic: If You're Not There To Sing Along
Ryan has a one-man folk duo. It used to be a two-man folk duo, which is, after all, the traditionally accepted paradigm for a folk duo, but his other ("Better," Brendon always said. "Better half!") half took a trip home for the holidays, slipped in some unfortunately spiked eggnog, and fell right into a shotgun wedding.
It's not that Jon isn't hot. It's that Spencer absolutely, positively cannot fuck up Ryan's band.
The one where Ryan's a one-man folk duo.
Ryan has a one-man folk duo.
It's not that Jon isn't hot. It's that Spencer absolutely, positively cannot fuck up Ryan's band
It's called, uh," Jon says, blinking down at his guitar and placing his fingers on it very deliberately. "'I Wasn't That Into Folk Music But I Thought You Were Cute Since The First Time You Walked Into My Starbucks So I Joined The Band Anyway And Now I Like It But You Should Still Go Out With Me'," Jon says. "Working title." "I usually call it 'Spencer'," Ryan says, shrugging. "But sure."
Jon and Ryan's folk-rock duo.