Patd: Subterranean Homesick Blues (genfic)
Title: Subterranean Homesick Blues
Pairing: n/a
Rating: PG
Summary: Jon's not homesick. Really, he isn't.
Disclaimer: Not real.
Word count: 1475
Notes: Yesterday cynthia_arrow posted a bunch of lyric prompts and one of them - "Don't let them see you cry" (The Hush Sound ~ City Traffic Puzzle) - got stuck in my head and wouldn't go away. So I blame her for this. ♥
It’s not like Jon is homesick or anything, because, honestly, he spends so much time away from Chicago that it really doesn’t feel like home any more. It’s just that, he really misses his bed with its mattress that sags in all the right places and its pillows that don’t need plumping or squishing to feel just right beneath his head. And he misses being woken up by Dylan and Clover attacking his feet in the morning because the sun is up and they would like to be fed right this minute thank you very much. And, just, stupid things, like having the whole of his wardrobe to pick from rather than the half a dozen or so shirts he packed for the tour. Which... yeah okay, he could go out and buy new clothes, and the hotels on this tour are much nicer than the ones they’ve stayed at in the past, and on the nights when they're on the bus the whole getting to sleep till noon without being woken by cat breath or claws in his toes is good, but, it’s not the same and he misses the familiarity and comforts of home.
So maybe he is homesick, or comfortsick at least. That’s probably a better name for it. But the real problem isn’t finding a name for how he feels, it’s the fact that he’s feeling it, and the problem with touring is there’s not much else to do when they’re traveling between cities except sit and think, which, in his case, right now, seems to translate to sit and brood. Which means that the more he tries to ignore the homesickness or comfortsickness or whatever the fuck type of sickness it is, the more he ends up thinking about it, until he’s itchy and irritable with the need to spend just one night in a bed that smells like home and has more than a curtain or the span of a bedside table to separate him from the rustle and sigh of other people sleeping, or not sleeping as the case may be.
What really bugs Jon most is that he can’t bitch about the way he feels because the tour will hit Chicago long before it hits Vegas. So really he’s got it better than everyone else and he should be thankful and looking forward to his two days in his hometown rather than sitting in the backlounge with his headphones on, pretending to listen to one of his audiobooks when really he’s listening to the Chicago Blues: Rough Guide cd that Tom gave him as a joke, on repeat, over and over again. And even if he did let Ryan and Spencer and Brendon know how he’s feeling it isn’t like they can help because they’ve got each other to remind them of home -- Ryan and Spencer with their lifetime of shared memories, and Brendon who might not have been there for all of them, but knows the places they talk about and the sights and sounds that go with the images that their words call up in his mind. Jon doesn’t have that, okay maybe he does a little now because he’s spent so much time in Vegas, but it’s not the same because Vegas isn’t his home no matter how often he talks about it in interviews like it is and no matter how hard the three of them - Ryan, Spencer and Brendon - work to make him feel like it could be.
Jon knows it’s getting out of hand when he catches a glimpse of the Chicago skyline on some cop show that Ryan flicks past on the TV one night when they’re sitting in their hotel room, searching for something to watch as they wind down from a show. The need to see Chicago for real hits Jon so hard that he has to make some feeble excuse and go hide in the bathroom until the urge to phone Cassie or Tom or his mom or all of them at once has passed, because it’s way after midnight and he doesn’t think any of them will take kindly to him calling them up so late. When he’s calm again and less likely to fly off the handle or do something really fucking embarrassing like cry if Ryan asks him what’s wrong, Jon feels like an idiot. Because he’s not some kid away at summer camp for the first time, he’s a grown man who gets paid to do the thing he loves most in the world with a bunch of guys who may not be blood relations but that still feel more like his family than some of his actual relatives do. ‘Lucky’ doesn’t even begin to describe his life and yet he’s moping in some shitty hotel bathroom because he misses the taste of Chicago pizza and the sounds (and smells) of the ballpark and the bustle of downtown and all the other things that spring to mind when he thinks of home. It’s pretty damn pathetic and he knows it, he needs to get a grip on himself and stop being such a loser because, seriously, if, say, Tom were here right now, he’d laugh in his face and tell him to suck it up and stop whining and, yeah, Jon knows that is exactly what he should do.
So he goes back into the room and waves off Ryan’s concern, smiles like he means it and tries to pretend like everything’s fine and he hasn’t suddenly been kidnapped and replaced by some twelve year old weakling who misses his mom. If Ryan sees through his act, he doesn’t say anything, just plays along with Jon’s pretence, steering the conversation towards the song they’d started working on a few days ago, asking Jon’s opinion about the chord sequence in the chorus that still doesn’t sound quite right. And for once Jon is grateful for Ryan’s willingness to avoid dealing with other people’s emotional issues, because he knows for a fact that if he’d been rooming with Spencer or Brendon then they wouldn’t let him get away with not talking about whatever is wrong. Because they both believe in clearing the air and talking things through and that’s the last thing Jon wants to do when he knows how petulant and childish he’d sound.
The thing about Ryan though, is that he’s more perceptive than he seems. He might not ask what someone’s problem is but, most of the time, that’s because he’s pretty good at figuring it out on his own. Jon remembers this four days later when they get to the day’s venue and there’s a fed ex package waiting for him. When he opens it, he finds a Tupperware container full of his mom’s brownies and a scrapbook that Tom has filled with photos of Chicago with little notes from him and Cassie written under each one. Jon’s caught between gratitude and embarrassment because, seriously, not a kid any more. But then Brendon’s plastered against him doing his best limpet impression and reaching a hand into the box saying, "ooh, brownies!" only to have it slapped away by Spencer, who arches an eyebrow but doesn’t bother to hide the smile on his face when he says, "Jon’s brownies, hands off," and Ryan’s bumping him with his hip and asking, "better now?" and smiling when Jon nods his head ‘yes’, and without any of them saying it out loud Jon knows they all had a hand in getting this package sent.
So yeah, Chicago might still be two weeks away and, yeah, he won’t get to be there for long before they have to get back on the road: but, when he’s lying in his bunk after the show; looking at Tom’s pictures that he’s tacked up on the wall beside him; putting off brushing his teeth because he still has the taste of brownies on his tongue; listening to the sounds of Spencer and Brendon arguing over what DVD to watch while Ryan strums his guitar in the backlounge, Jon doesn’t feel homesick or comfortsick or whateversick at all any more. Because his heart might belong to Chicago but home is where you make it. It’s a fluid thing made up of people and friendship and love, not just a city that, really, is nothing more than a point on a map. Jon gets that now and, honestly, he can’t work out why he didn’t get it before, because he knows, for a fact, that his home is here on this bus, or on stage caught up in the beat of the music and the screams of the crowd, or in their rehearsal space or the recording studio or some random cabin in the woods. Home, his real home, is exactly where he is right now.
Pairing: n/a
Rating: PG
Summary: Jon's not homesick. Really, he isn't.
Disclaimer: Not real.
Word count: 1475
Notes: Yesterday cynthia_arrow posted a bunch of lyric prompts and one of them - "Don't let them see you cry" (The Hush Sound ~ City Traffic Puzzle) - got stuck in my head and wouldn't go away. So I blame her for this. ♥
It’s not like Jon is homesick or anything, because, honestly, he spends so much time away from Chicago that it really doesn’t feel like home any more. It’s just that, he really misses his bed with its mattress that sags in all the right places and its pillows that don’t need plumping or squishing to feel just right beneath his head. And he misses being woken up by Dylan and Clover attacking his feet in the morning because the sun is up and they would like to be fed right this minute thank you very much. And, just, stupid things, like having the whole of his wardrobe to pick from rather than the half a dozen or so shirts he packed for the tour. Which... yeah okay, he could go out and buy new clothes, and the hotels on this tour are much nicer than the ones they’ve stayed at in the past, and on the nights when they're on the bus the whole getting to sleep till noon without being woken by cat breath or claws in his toes is good, but, it’s not the same and he misses the familiarity and comforts of home.
So maybe he is homesick, or comfortsick at least. That’s probably a better name for it. But the real problem isn’t finding a name for how he feels, it’s the fact that he’s feeling it, and the problem with touring is there’s not much else to do when they’re traveling between cities except sit and think, which, in his case, right now, seems to translate to sit and brood. Which means that the more he tries to ignore the homesickness or comfortsickness or whatever the fuck type of sickness it is, the more he ends up thinking about it, until he’s itchy and irritable with the need to spend just one night in a bed that smells like home and has more than a curtain or the span of a bedside table to separate him from the rustle and sigh of other people sleeping, or not sleeping as the case may be.
What really bugs Jon most is that he can’t bitch about the way he feels because the tour will hit Chicago long before it hits Vegas. So really he’s got it better than everyone else and he should be thankful and looking forward to his two days in his hometown rather than sitting in the backlounge with his headphones on, pretending to listen to one of his audiobooks when really he’s listening to the Chicago Blues: Rough Guide cd that Tom gave him as a joke, on repeat, over and over again. And even if he did let Ryan and Spencer and Brendon know how he’s feeling it isn’t like they can help because they’ve got each other to remind them of home -- Ryan and Spencer with their lifetime of shared memories, and Brendon who might not have been there for all of them, but knows the places they talk about and the sights and sounds that go with the images that their words call up in his mind. Jon doesn’t have that, okay maybe he does a little now because he’s spent so much time in Vegas, but it’s not the same because Vegas isn’t his home no matter how often he talks about it in interviews like it is and no matter how hard the three of them - Ryan, Spencer and Brendon - work to make him feel like it could be.
Jon knows it’s getting out of hand when he catches a glimpse of the Chicago skyline on some cop show that Ryan flicks past on the TV one night when they’re sitting in their hotel room, searching for something to watch as they wind down from a show. The need to see Chicago for real hits Jon so hard that he has to make some feeble excuse and go hide in the bathroom until the urge to phone Cassie or Tom or his mom or all of them at once has passed, because it’s way after midnight and he doesn’t think any of them will take kindly to him calling them up so late. When he’s calm again and less likely to fly off the handle or do something really fucking embarrassing like cry if Ryan asks him what’s wrong, Jon feels like an idiot. Because he’s not some kid away at summer camp for the first time, he’s a grown man who gets paid to do the thing he loves most in the world with a bunch of guys who may not be blood relations but that still feel more like his family than some of his actual relatives do. ‘Lucky’ doesn’t even begin to describe his life and yet he’s moping in some shitty hotel bathroom because he misses the taste of Chicago pizza and the sounds (and smells) of the ballpark and the bustle of downtown and all the other things that spring to mind when he thinks of home. It’s pretty damn pathetic and he knows it, he needs to get a grip on himself and stop being such a loser because, seriously, if, say, Tom were here right now, he’d laugh in his face and tell him to suck it up and stop whining and, yeah, Jon knows that is exactly what he should do.
So he goes back into the room and waves off Ryan’s concern, smiles like he means it and tries to pretend like everything’s fine and he hasn’t suddenly been kidnapped and replaced by some twelve year old weakling who misses his mom. If Ryan sees through his act, he doesn’t say anything, just plays along with Jon’s pretence, steering the conversation towards the song they’d started working on a few days ago, asking Jon’s opinion about the chord sequence in the chorus that still doesn’t sound quite right. And for once Jon is grateful for Ryan’s willingness to avoid dealing with other people’s emotional issues, because he knows for a fact that if he’d been rooming with Spencer or Brendon then they wouldn’t let him get away with not talking about whatever is wrong. Because they both believe in clearing the air and talking things through and that’s the last thing Jon wants to do when he knows how petulant and childish he’d sound.
The thing about Ryan though, is that he’s more perceptive than he seems. He might not ask what someone’s problem is but, most of the time, that’s because he’s pretty good at figuring it out on his own. Jon remembers this four days later when they get to the day’s venue and there’s a fed ex package waiting for him. When he opens it, he finds a Tupperware container full of his mom’s brownies and a scrapbook that Tom has filled with photos of Chicago with little notes from him and Cassie written under each one. Jon’s caught between gratitude and embarrassment because, seriously, not a kid any more. But then Brendon’s plastered against him doing his best limpet impression and reaching a hand into the box saying, "ooh, brownies!" only to have it slapped away by Spencer, who arches an eyebrow but doesn’t bother to hide the smile on his face when he says, "Jon’s brownies, hands off," and Ryan’s bumping him with his hip and asking, "better now?" and smiling when Jon nods his head ‘yes’, and without any of them saying it out loud Jon knows they all had a hand in getting this package sent.
So yeah, Chicago might still be two weeks away and, yeah, he won’t get to be there for long before they have to get back on the road: but, when he’s lying in his bunk after the show; looking at Tom’s pictures that he’s tacked up on the wall beside him; putting off brushing his teeth because he still has the taste of brownies on his tongue; listening to the sounds of Spencer and Brendon arguing over what DVD to watch while Ryan strums his guitar in the backlounge, Jon doesn’t feel homesick or comfortsick or whateversick at all any more. Because his heart might belong to Chicago but home is where you make it. It’s a fluid thing made up of people and friendship and love, not just a city that, really, is nothing more than a point on a map. Jon gets that now and, honestly, he can’t work out why he didn’t get it before, because he knows, for a fact, that his home is here on this bus, or on stage caught up in the beat of the music and the screams of the crowd, or in their rehearsal space or the recording studio or some random cabin in the woods. Home, his real home, is exactly where he is right now.