one step forward (two steps back) - part three
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The next morning, Jon is up bright and early with the rest of the techs, leaving the band bus while its occupants are still asleep and snoring. The lucky bastards won't have to get up for hours yet while Jon lugs around equipment to assure it follows them back to the US and doesn't end up in Mongolia or Slovenia. By the time that's all done, the equipment that is going with them in the cabin stacked by the gates, Jon is dead tired and slumped on his cabin bag, head on his knees.
"Here," someone says, holding a coffee cup beneath Jon's nose, jiggling it temptingly. Jon can feel the warmth of it, the slightly spicy scent. He looks up, managing a brief smile at Brendon as he meets Brendon's eyes, looking at him kind of weirdly.
"Thanks,” Jon says, taking a sip on the coffee. There's hazelnut in it. Yum.
"You looked tired," Brendon says and crouches down in front of him; poking him in the arm and wiggling a little to find a position that'll let him keep his balance. Jon ignores him, concentrating on getting as much caffeine into himself in an as short time as possible. Bless Brendon for getting him a large. "You're coming on the next tour too, aren't you?"
Jon stifles a yawn. "Yeah. As if TAI would even make it without me."
"Hey!" comes from somewhere behind him and Jon turns to smirk at Sisky.
"You know it," Jon tells him, then turns back to Brendon. "Why?"
"Oh, nothing," Brendon says airily, waving one hand a little. Jon takes the opportunity to sip at his coffee. Brendon's flailing can take time sometimes. "It would be nice to get to know you better, that's all."
Jon nods agreeably. "I'm nice to know."
Brendon blinks, laughs. "You are, actually." He's still smiling as he gets to his feet and peers across the hall before nudging Jon's foot with a toe. "You should come with me and say goodbye to us Vegas people," he says, nodding towards the group behind him somewhere. Zack probably hid them after the first fan girl spotted them an hour ago - Jon had heard the squealing. "I think we’re heading off to security any minute now."
For a second, Jon considers whether he really wants back up on his feet, then he sighs and does. After all, Brendon did bring him coffee. "Lead the way."
Zack has gathered the band in a secluded part of the airport, guarding them like little chicks, and when Zack glares at them as soon as they come within sight, Jon begins to suspect that Brendon sneaked away. Judging from the carefully blank expression on Ryan's face, he had help too. Jon holds up his hands. "Don't kill me," he says. "I was just sitting there."
"Should have been over here," Zack says pointedly, which, Jon has to admit, has a certain amount of truth to it. He's been spending a lot of time with at least Brent, and it would have been kind of impolite not to see them off.
"Couldn't leave without saying goodbye," Brendon says and bounces a little, looking pleadingly at Zack. They might only have had him for a few days, but they've already wrapped him around their little fingers. Jon smiles as Zack visibly wavers and sighs.
"If you'd asked me, I could have given you his cell phone number," Zack says and twaps Brendon lightly on the head. "Don't do that again." He glances at Ryan. "And that goes for you too. Don't think I didn't notice you distracting me."
Ryan looks down with a tiny smile and Brendon pouts as he herds Jon over to the others. Jon sidles in next to Brent, looking around for a place to discard his empty coffee mug. Spencer catches him looking and gestures towards a cleaner a couple of yards away. "No litter bins," he says. "Security risk or something."
Jon nods and heads over to the cleaner, handing over the cup with thanks. Zack is looking at his watch as Jon returns, the rest of the band watching Jon. He kind of feels like he's some animal in a zoo - what are they expecting him to do? Break out in a run and flee? "Seeing something interesting?" Jon asks, and it maybe comes out a little grumpily.
"Not much else to watch here," Brent points out mildly and nudges him in the shoulder as he falls in next to Brent again. And yeah, maybe he's right about that. Jon glances out the floor-to-ceiling windows. Just a hell of a lot of pavement and ugly buildings.
"Security in five," Zack interrupts and looks at Jon. "So say your goodbyes."
Jon rolls his eyes, because really, what does Zack think he is, five? He nevertheless hugs them all, one by one, saving Brent to last. "You have my number?" he asks as he steps away.
Brent nods, the corners of his mouth turned down. Jon sympathizes - he'll miss Brent. "Yeah. I'll text you when we come in."
"Do that," Jon tells him, then looks at Zack, who's watching impatiently. "Guess you have to go now."
"You'll see them soon enough," Zack says dryly when Jon makes a mock sad-face. "I know you're on the payroll for Truckstops."
"But anyway." Jon grins though and nods at him - he likes Zack - then turns to the others. "Safe journey," he offers and they smile back, Brent adding a squeeze of Jon's arm as he passes by. Jon watches them from there until they disappear out of sight, and then claims his baggage again. Four hours until his own flight, two until check in. Jon absently rubs his arm. Yeah, this will be a riot of fun.
For the rest of the time, Jon ends up playing cards with the other techs, earning himself a decent amount of one and two-pound coins, whatever he's supposed to do with those. He could exchange them, he guesses, but doesn't really want to go through the hassle. So when check-in finally opens, Jon stuffs them into his jacket (not his pants pocket - he learned that the bad way when coming here) and forgets all about them. It's finally time to head home for a tiny little while.
***
They have three days off before the next tour, Jon included. He spends most of those days with Cassie, taking the time just to enjoy her company and relax. When he leaves again, it will be for an even longer time than the UK tour and they both feel it - tour can be hard on a relationship for sure, but they will do what they can to make the most of their time.
The flight is, thank God, not as long as the previous time. He has been booked on the same flight as Bill, who needs to be at their starting point early for an interview. The others, Tom included, won't fly out until tomorrow. Jon doesn't particularly envy them: this way he and the other techs (and Bill) have first choice of bunks and such. Not that bottom bunks are that popular, but anyway.
If someone asked Jon, he would admit that he is actually kind of looking forward to this tour, long as it is. Sure, he won't be home again for ages, but he will have Tom. And he will have Brent and the other Panic!s, who have reached second headliners this time around. Jon smiles at the thought. They have begun to get to know each other and he's definitely looking forwards to meeting them again.
Bill and Jon are picked up at the airport by their tour manager, heading straight for the buses as soon as their stuff has been thrown into the trunk. Jon ends up being the one carrying it onto the bus, Bill being whisked away at once for interviews. Jon doesn't complain though; simply dumps their stuff in a bunk and stakes out his. Then he heads off to help with inventory.
By the time evening comes around, Jon's dead tired but everything is ready. Shrugging deep into his jacket, he heads towards the TAI bus and hopes someone has supplied it with cold beer. Jon could certainly use one.
To Jon's surprise, someone appears to be waiting for him at the bus. It isn't Bill - the lack of height and reed-thinness says that - and Jon doesn't recognize the black coat and red cap, or the slightly brownish hair sticking out from beneath it. He frowns a little and turns to approach at an angle. TAI has their share of rabid fans and he really doesn't want to run into one of them.
As Jon closes in on the someone, he turns, apparently hearing Jon's steps, and Jon breaks out in a huge smile and walks faster. "Brent!" he says, running his eyes over him. Brent's cut his hair - it doesn't even reach his shoulders now - which makes it look a lot lighter. No wonder he didn't recognize him. "I almost didn't realize it was you."
Brent grins a little, tugging at the cap. His eyes are dancing, meeting Jon's head on and they make him want to pull him into a hug. "It's the hair, isn't it," he says and weighs back on his heels. "I promised Mom I would cut it if she didn't freak out over the UK."
Jon tells his hesitance to go to hell and tugs Brent into a rough embrace, Brent's hands going to Jon's back and holding him just as tight before letting go as Jon takes a step backwards. "Looks good," Jon tells him earnestly. "You're here early?"
Brent shrugs a little and, yeah, it's good to see him again, even if it only has been three days. "Interview," he says, looking down. "I wouldn't have minded staying home for a little longer."
Jon winces. Brent really doesn't seem happy - he'd thought Brent was over that, but evidently not. But then again, Jon really doesn't have any ground to stand on. He still remembers that last tour with 5o4Plan. "I know what you mean," Jon replies and his voice is quiet in remembrance. "I feel like I barely have the time to say 'hello' before it's time to leave again."
"Yeah." Brent bites his lip, looks up at Jon. There's something in his eyes - a hesitance, a question that makes something in Jon respond with a yes without knowing what's being asked of him. "I'm thinking of..." He shakes his head, brows knitted. "No, forget that." Brent sighs and Jon knows he won't be asked just yet, which is probably a good thing, judging from his reaction. "Want to come over to our bus and play some cards or something?" Brent asks instead.
"I'm kind of beat," Jon hedges and it's the truth. If he doesn't get to sit down soon, he'll throw a tantrum. "You could stay with me as I get something to eat though. I wouldn't mind some company."
Brent hesitates for a brief second, then gestures towards the door. Jon smiles at him, and a surprising amount of the reason for that smile is relief. "Lead on."
They go inside, and Jon heads straight for the fridge while Brent peels off his outer clothes and slumps down in a couch, watching as Jon rummages through the fridge contents. Bill called earlier and said he'd ordered Chinese, so Jon digs out that along with a can of Coke rather than the beer he knows Brent is still kind of uncomfortable around.
"You'll be with us for the whole tour?" Brent asks as Jon starts to put things on the tale. He's at Jon through his lashes, and it almost looks like he misses having his hair to hide behind. Jon doesn't miss it though - he likes being able to see Brent's face.
Jon nods, popping a piece of bamboo into his mouth, and wonders a little why Brent's asking. "Yeah, I signed on for the whole year, even though they'll let me go if something comes up."
"That's good." Brent looks at Jon, eyes narrowing a little. Then he snatches a dumpling from Jon's plate, smirking as Jon mock glares. "By the way, I wanted to ask you something." He looks sideways at Jon and if he isn't about to ask something important, Jon will eat his bass. "The guys and I...we're wondering--" Brent seems to steel himself and looks straight into Jon's eyes. "It's my sister's birthday in the middle of March and I really want to be there for her - she's turning eighteen. I know you're kind of busy, but..." Brent looks frustrated and Jon takes pity on him, catching his eye and smiling.
"You want to know if I can fill in," he says and Brent nods, eyes down. Why he would ever think Jon would say no, Jon doesn't have a clue.
"If you want to," Brent says cautiously. "Ryan's a little... He's careful and we can't just... He trusts you."
Jon's heart beats once, twice, he's mind at a stand-still. "You don't know me."
"But we like you," Brent says quietly, reaching over to touch Jon's hand briefly, frozen half-way to the food. "And there's still time."
Something knots inside Jon and he can't breathe. Something is changing and he can't figure out if it's good or bad. All he knows is that he can't say no. Can never say no. So he catches Brent's hand and squeezes.
"Of course I'm helping," Jon says and he knows he's smiling. "You'll have to teach me the songs though."
Brent smiles brilliantly and the knot inside Jon dissolves, flaring into something hot and demanding. "We will," Brent promises, then looks like he can't control himself any longer and launches himself around the table, hugging Jon tightly. It tastes of relief and desperation and Jon clings back, somehow wanting to absorb it into himself and get the Brent from the last part of the UK tour back. "Thank you," Brent mutters into Jon's neck.
Jon smiles and lets his head fall to Brent's shoulder, just for a moment. "You're welcome."
***
Jon tells TAI about it the next day during a TAI TV meeting and the guys nods a little, Tom hitting Jon in the shoulder with a pointed smirk, but that's pretty much it. Things with Brent and the others start to change immediately though, beginning with having Jon along on every practice and sound check he's free to attend. They go through the songs one by one, playing them until Jon's fingers find the chords by themselves. He learns the lyrics, sings along whenever he hears the songs for practice and, eventually, even learns to like them for what they are.
By the end of the first week, Jon knows not only 'we don't care about critics' by heart, but also the gossip song with the whore bride, which, in Jon's humble opinion, is an achievement, because it's a proverbial roller coaster to play.
The others in the band seem to take his presence well too. Brendon and Brent are the ones that really talk to him, but Ryan's nice enough and Spencer isn't glaring, which is quite an improvement in Jon's opinion. He's not quite sure why Spencer went from friendly to Mr. McGlare, but he really hopes it'll reverse itself. Especially as Jon feels at home with the band and sometimes, it even feels like he's in a band again.
A week or two into the tour, things start to change again. Jon hasn't really thought about it, busy with work, but eventually the change is large enough that no one can ignore it: Panic! is having a second breakthrough. There's no other way to say it. The crowds coming to see them rather than TAI are increasing exponentially and even as they do, the tension between TAI and Panic! grows. Because being buzz worthy in the UK is far from stealing the buzz at home.
Jon has known Bill for a long time. He knows how much Bill's put into TAI, into every show and every song. And no matter how much he likes Panic! (Brent), the thorn in his heart digs in just a little bit deeper as Bill's face falls a little more every day, his eyes losing their sparkle even as he still gives his all during every show. It will not be enough, Jon's mind says, and somehow, despite the fact that Brent and the others are his friends, Jon pulls away, as if to compensate for the crowds that no longer see TAI but Panic!. He seeks out Tom instead of Brent, closes his eyes against the hurt and confusion in Brent's eyes before they shutter. Ignores the way his heart slowly crumbles.
The second time Jon comes to practice and don't say anything not strictly needed, Brent approaches him somewhere halfway through, a hesitant look on his face. "Is there something wrong?" he asks and there's no doubt he cares, no doubt there's something between them that makes him ask.
Jon shakes his head anyway, denying it, shutting down and not looking. "I'm fine."
Brent stretches out a hesitant hand. Jon backs away, head still bowed, and he can almost physically feel the tentative ties between them snap as Brent's hand fall back to his side. Brent doesn't try again, and every time any of the others try to talk to him, Jon blows them off until they don't try again. And if it hurts not to let Brendon touch him, to ignore Ryan's smiles and the way Spencer's frowns were slowly disappearing, Jon completely ignores it.
***
It's a Tuesday when something breaks. Panic!'s show was great, the venue full with the energy of the crowd, but when Panic! enters the stage for the last encore, Spencer walks to his drum set with his hands clenched tightly enough around his sticks Jon is afraid they will break, and Brent practically stomps to his mark, face flushed and bottom lip angry red. Opposite to every other fight within the band Jon has witnessed, Ryan ignores Spencer as he passes him and instead claps Brent on the shoulder and smiles at him. Brendon walks onto the stage as if not sure where to go, hovering between the lines drawn with his brows knitted and his hands uncharacteristically still.
Jon wants to go over, ask what's wrong - everything was fine during practice! - but can't, busy with preparations for TAI's performance and knowing that they probably wouldn't want him there anyway.
Bill, in contrast, is on a high tonight, singing his heart out until the public screams and the band plays harder than they have before, grinning and sweating but never stopping until the event is over. He comes off the stage beaming, plastered with sweat and eyes so bright Jon wants to beam back but can't, because he remembers Ryan's tense jaw and Brent's white knuckles, the way Brendon rushed past him on the way to the dressing room and Spencer disappeared before anyone even saw him. So Jon keeps his head down and does his work, ignoring his tight chest and the way he can't help but glance towards the dressing rooms every tenth second.
When Jon gets back to the bus, Tom is waiting for him, bundled up and beer in hand. He doesn't have one for Jon and Jon glares a little at him. Tom only looks back and when Jon gets within hearing range, Tom raises his beer in a greeting. "Bill says not to be stupid," he says.
Jon's heart thumps once, but he ignores it, hooking his thumbs into his jacket. "Oh?"
Tom shrugs, gets up, and if Jon hadn't known Tom since he was a child, he would have thought it was just a random subject. "Anyone can see you're only hurting yourself by pulling away from the Panic! dudes," Tom says. His voice is sharp and full of undertones Jon wishes he didn't understand. "And your boy crush looks like someone kicked his puppy. Bill says to do something about it. It makes him want to cry."
Jon's mouth twitches a little and he raises an eyebrow. Bill, cry? Yeah right. Tom cracks a smile. "OK, maybe not cry, but you know what I mean." He catches Jon's eye and holds it with a fond smile on his face Jon hasn't seen in a while, usually replaced by sadness and anger. "Go see them--" him "--and make up for being a total douche. We voted - you don't get in until the littlest band is happy."
Jon mind's blanks for a second and then it's all he can do not to stalk away immediately. But still... TAI are his friends, he can't just...
Tom punches him hard in the shoulder and Jon staggers to the side, hand flying up to clutch at his shoulder as he stares at his best friend. "Tom."
Tom shakes his head and with a frustrated movement, he pitches his beer into the side of the bus. "Don't Tom me," he snaps. "It was a group decision. And Jon, you don't want me to say no. So stop dicking around." Tom shakes his head, exhales, looks at him. Jon can't breathe, the air stuck in his throat, because this is it, he can feel it. If he does this, there's no coming back and Tom is... "You're my best friend, there's no changing that," Tom finally says, and his voice is even in a way that doesn't suit him. "And these guys..." he nods towards the lounge, "they might feel angry, sad, whatever right now, but they've done this a long time. They will get over it."
And somehow, those are the words that ease the weight on Jon's shoulders, lets his mind open up until he can find the words again. Speak. "Yeah," he breathes out, and then looks almost involuntarily towards Panic's bus. "You'll tell the others?"
Tom snorts, the humor back in his eyes, and thumps the door hard. Someone on the other side yelps and the bus rocks as if considerable weight has suddenly been thrown against the opposite wall. "I think they already know," he says and Jon laughs. Then he turns and starts walking.
Panic!'s bus has been parked on the opposite side from TAI's lately, as if the bus drivers want to do their part in keeping the bands docile. It means that Jon can't quite see it from where he is, but will soon enough as he rounds on of the trailers. It's brightly lit from within and Jon can see people moving inside, crossing the windows. No one from the band though and Jon sighs. It's just his luck if he finally gets his head out of his ass and they're not there.
Jon knocks on the door. Brent told him the security code a few weeks ago, but he doesn't doubt it has been changed by now. The tech that opens it takes one look at him and points towards the nearby Starbucks. Jon nods his thanks and heads in that direction, and soon, he can see Zack in there, and where Zack is, Panic! is.
The store is half-empty, only occasionally dotted with giggling fan girls, glancing at Zack every now and then as if expecting Brent and the others to pop out of the woodwork. Jon ignores them, orders himself a caramel hot chocolate and walks over to Zack. He's been watching Jon since he entered, leaning against a pillar in what can only be a deceptively relaxed manner, coffee cup in hand.
"Walker," Zack says, nodding once. Jon meets his eyes - he deserves everything he gets after this whole mess. Especially as he's still not sure if he's doing the right thing. "You've done something about those divided loyalties of yours."
Jon rubs the back of his neck, fights not to lower his gaze. "Tom did it for me," he admits, peering around Zack. "They're here?"
Zack nods and shifts a little, tilting one shoulder towards the back. He looks neutral again and only then Jon realizes Zack had tensed up when Jon walked over. "Private booth," Zack says, then hesitates, giving Jon a judging look. Apparently he finds what he needs - Jon has no clue what, because the only thing he does is try to look normal and level despite the fact his stomach is roiling and his mind is calling him a traitor at an increasingly loud volume. He isn't even sure which band it's talking about anymore. "If you want Brent, you should wait by the restroom."
Jon's eyes slip shut and he bites down on his lip. Hard. "Thanks." He forces them open again, smiles and heads off, wavering between the booth and the restrooms for a second before heading for the booth. The remaining Panic!s are seated inside, discussing something in quiet voices. Jon clears his throat, just a little, and their heads snap up. Brendon flinches as he sees Jon and Spencer's eyes narrows, the blue deepening into ice. Ryan looks at Jon, eyes sharp, before inclining his head infinitesimally.
"Zack told you where Brent is?" Ryan asks and his voice is so flat Jon flinches. Before, he could hear Ryan's emotions through the monotone, hear the inflections, the way Ryan feels. Now there's nothing, a complete blank. He fights against closing his eyes again - he can't go back now.
"Yeah, just dropping this off." Jon places his drink on the table, looks at them. He thought he would just go, thought Brent would be the one to make his heart clench, the one that would make him work for it. But this is reality, this is realizing that the others are walled off as well, to the point that the past months might as well never have happened. "We OK?" slips past his guarded mouth and Jon feels like hitting himself, because things are so far past OK he doesn't know where to go to find the path back.
Spencer's eyes flashes and Jon sees an echo of the feeling that broke him away from the band earlier on stage. "You gonna freeze us out?" he challenges, but there's something else in his voice that sounds hurt over a lost friendship and things are just continuing to spin out of Jon's control. He clenches his hands, tries to find something to say, but there's really only one thing he can say.
So he says, "No.", almost before Spencer stops talking, his tongue almost tying itself into a knot in the hurry to answer. "I've been a douche, I don't deny that."
"You'd better not," Spencer says in a strangled kind of voice, as if biting back something he really wants to say but can't. This, Jon realizes, is the only thing he’ll get from that corner. And Brendon has still not said a word.
Jon turns his head and Brendon is huddled in on himself, looking at the table and so far away from the personable friend Jon has known he seems like a whole other person. "Brendon," Jon says and he's surprised at how much he wants to reach out, find the boy-man that bounces circles around him and teaches him to play Panic! songs on the piano.
Brendon looks up, tries on a smile that doesn't fit on his face. "I'll be fine. Go make things right?"
And that's it really. Jon can't stay and make Brendon face him, however much he wants to. Because there's still... There's still Brent, and not even Brendon... Jon nods, closing his mind against the silence still between him and the others and walk away. He can't do anything about that. Not right now.
The restrooms lie towards the back of the store and luckily, they aren't unisex but divided into men's and ladies. Jon can hear someone washing his hands inside, which in face of the relative emptiness of the place probably means Brent. He heads inside.
It is Brent, but he isn't washing his hands. Instead he's leaning on the wash basin, staring at himself in the mirror, hair hanging in his face. His shoulders are tense, tense enough they're almost shaking. He doesn't notice Jon entering and Jon falters, comes to a stop. "Brent," he says and his voice comes out in a croak, loud enough that both Jon and Brent jump, and in Brent's case, slams his hand hard against the faucet.
Brent curses at length through clenched teeth, then looks up at Jon and stops so suddenly the walls echo with cut-off curses. "Jon," Brent forces out and his eyes are shuttered in a way they haven't been before. "What are you doing here?"
Jon wets his lips, taking a step closer, then stops as Brent almost automatically leans back. "Someone told me I was a douche. They were right."
Brent's expression doesn't change - if anything, it grows more rigid. "But why are you here?"
Jon wants to tense, wants to move in and mold himself to Brent, embracing him and never letting go, but he doesn't, forcing his arms to hang loose, his feet to stand still. "You're my friend," he says instead, putting everything he can, everything he feels into his voice and it comes out shaky. "And I was a douche. I want to say I'm sorry."
Brent laughs then, but it isn't a happy laugh and the tension in his shoulders is still there. "I bet you are if you had to be talked into coming here."
Jon shoves down the impulse to protest, forcing himself to think, because this? This isn't the Brent he knows, not at all, and something is going on that Jon doesn't understand. "That's not what this is," he says, keeping his voice even. "Brent, you..." Jon draws for a breath, and then chokes as he recognizes the way Brent stands, the way his eyes flickers to the door behind Jon. "That's not what this is about," Jon realizes and takes a step closer, not stopping this time. Brent tenses further, but doesn't move. "There's something else."
Brent's eyes flickers away from Jon. "No."
"Yes," Jon insists and then he's close enough to touch but doesn't, because if he does, Brent might just fall into pieces and Jon doesn't want to be that person. Can't be that person. "Something's wrong and I wasn't there." And you can't talk to the others because they're involved. Jon chokes on his breath and for a second, he can't breathe past the lump of guilt in his throat.
Brent shakes his head violently, hands clenched and head bowed; refusing to say anything, refusing to relax and let go.
"Fuck," Jon says with feeling, pulling a hand over his face, suddenly wanting to hide or - he doesn't know - turn back time or something. "I really fucked this up, didn't I?" He looks past Brent's shoulder, staring at white tile and soap dispensers. His hands open and shut and Jon has never in his life wanted to hit himself as much as he wants to right now. But that won't make anything better, so he clenches his jaws and looks at Brent. "Fine. If you can't tell me."
And he takes a quick step forwards and grabs Brent, pulling him into his arms without regard for either of their physical comfort. Brent resists, but then their bodies collide in an uncomfortable clash of angles, Jon's arms holding him tight and he collapses, suddenly dead weight in Jon's arms. Jon can feel him shaking, the wet warmth of his mouth through his shirt.
"Yeah," Jon says to himself, hands clenched tight in Brent's shirt and face pressed against Brent's hair. "I really fucked up." But he doesn't let go and Brent doesn't step away.
They stay like that for a while, until Brent finally relaxes and Jon's eyes are burning. It almost hurts to separate and for some reason, Jon doesn't want to let go. But he does and they return to the others, shuffling into the empty spots at the booth. Jon's chocolate has grown cold, but he doesn't mind much. He didn't come for the drinks.
The silence in the booth remains uncomfortable for a while as the others try to read them and figure out if it's all right to talk. In the end, it's Brendon who curls out of his hunched pose and glares at Jon in a way Jon didn't know he could; it's all the more potent for it. His hands are clenched around the edge of the table, knuckles white as he leans towards Jon as if to threaten him. "Don't do that again," Brendon says voice full of edges that seems to cut into Jon like knives. "Your friends aren't assholes, so you really don't have any reason to be one."
Jon sits still, not sure what do, just knowing that the wrong thing might be disastrous. Instead, it's Brent who moves, rolling his eyes and shuffling forwards in his seat. "Brendon," he says, giving Brendon a look Jon can't see.
Brendon shakes his head minutely, eyes still fastened on Jon. "No," he says to Brent, and then addresses Jon. "I get why you did it," he says and seems to be forcing the words out, "but we can't help the situation and we don't want to lose you as a friend."
Jon wets his lips, opening his mouth and closing it, before opening it again, trying to find the words. "I know," he says finally. "But it doesn't make it any easier." Brendon opens his mouth, but Jon plows on. "But I'm going to try this time."
Brendon grimaces and crosses his arms, looking at Jon with dark eyes. "You'd better," he says, voice low.
Jon looks down. He had known that Panic! doesn't have that many friends on the road and he had still cut them off. But then again, I've always been a fuck up.
Brent nudges him in the shoulder and Jon looks up, hiding partly behind his lashes. There's a smile on Brent's face, a drawn one, but a smile nonetheless and Jon straightens, looking at him. "Let's just start over," Brent says in a low voice. "You have some time tonight, right?" Jon nods. "Come over. We'll talk and we'll settle things. I want my friend back." I shouldn't have had to lose you in the first place.
Jon closes his eyes, the unsaid words bouncing in his mind, then looks at Brent, looks at all of them, and agrees.
***
That evening is both awkward and depressing. No one knows how to act - Jon feels like a stupid fuck, Brent is still in his not-talking mood, Brendon swivels between hurt puppy-eyes and looking down at the floor, curled on the couch with his feet tucked up beneath him. Ryan and Spencer have appropriated one of the couches, Spencer tense and frowning while Ryan glares at him and rolls his eyes, but they're whispering among themselves and Jon chooses to take that as a good sign, even if it's surreal that Ryan seems to be the least affected person in the group. But at least that makes it less surprising when Ryan, after an hour of everyone staring in silence, rolls his eyes so violently Jon thinks they will pop out for a second.
"For God's sake!" Ryan explodes with such force Brendon flinches, looking up for the first time in ten minutes. "So Jon avoided us for a week because we're indirectly hurting his friends. Who cares? The last time Brendon hid Spencer's shoes, they didn't speak outside of interviews for five days. And let's not even mention how Brent's been avoiding talking about something for longer than that. At least Jon had a fucking reason."
Brendon flinches again when Ryan swears and Jon adds another tally in his mind towards the possibility of Brendon having a religious upbringing. Then he winces as Ryan looks at him with those sharp, sharp eyes he tends to turn upon the world when he feels it's particularly stupid and slides straight back into feeling like a stupid fuck.
"You," Ryan tells him in a voice that invites no protests, "are going to spend a lot of time tomorrow talking to people." He turns to Brent. "You, are going to be one of them. Get whatever you can't tell us out of your head and tell Jon, or I'm going to strangle you, I swear to God."
Brent flushes and looks sideways at Jon, but nods. Jon leans into him for a second, wanting to give him that much of an assurance. "After practice?" Brent mumbles and Jon nods. There will be time enough then, he thinks, and if there isn't, he will make some.
Somehow, Ryan's little speech makes everyone breathe easier and when Brendon suggests they put in a Disney movie to watch, no one protests. They all end up snuggled together on the couch; Brendon's head on Jon's shoulder, Brent's legs resting against his and Ryan and Spencer taking up Brent's other side. Jon sinks down against them and lets himself feel like a part of this for the first time, letting himself accept the warmth and relax until he's leaning on Brent like Brendon is leaning on him. And that's how he falls asleep, curled up on a couch that really isn't meant to fit five people. He doesn't regret it, even when they wake up the next morning with stiff necks and sore bodies. Instead Jon smiles and helps Spencer make breakfast while Brent makes coffee and Ryan and Brendon lock themselves into the back for a phone interview. And it almost feels like home.
***
The next day brings many changes to Jon's presence on tour, courtesy of Brent, Brendon and Tom; and not necessarily in that order. It begins when Jon stumbles onto the TAI bus, yawning and stiff, to be faced with a stand-off between Mike and Tom. Tom's jaw is clenched so tight Jon winces and he hasn't seen Mike's face this rage black for months. Neither of them takes any notice of Jon, and for a second, he's tempted to back out and pretend it never happened. Their squabbles are their own and he has better to do than to play judge. But then Tom raises his fist and Jon moves forwards without thinking, putting himself between them. When Tom begins to hit things, everything inevitably gets worse.
"Tom!" Jon snaps, catching Tom's eyes and holding them. "Don't."
The muscles in Tom's cheek jumps as he focuses on Jon. He looks two seconds from snapping, and really, Jon wants to hit him himself but he won't, because differently from Tom he still knows better. "He," Tom says.
"I don't care," Jon says, squeezing Tom's fist and pushing down, and doesn't dig his fingernails into the soft skin of his arm, no matter how much he wants to. "I don't care if it was him or you or whatever, but I know you. And if you do this, you won't be able to stop." He turns his head just far enough he can look at Mike, eyes narrowed. "And you. You know better than to wind him up like this."
"He went too far," Mike replies, eyes hot, then visibly tamps down on his feelings and shakes his head. Which is good really - Mike has a much better grip on his temper than Tom when he remembers, but if he doesn't? The results can be just as spectacular as the times Tom gets loose. "I'm going out." Mike nods towards Tom, and this time, there's something different in his eyes than anger. Jon closes his eyes and wishes he didn't know what it is. "He was getting drunk."
Jon had seen the six-pack, had hoped it was from yesterday. Foolish of him really. "I know." His shoulders slumped. "I'll take care of it."
Mike shakes his head but still moves towards the door. "That's not it," he tells Jon. "You shouldn't have to be the one."
"I know." Jon grits his teeth. He really does, but it doesn't make this easier. Or any less necessary. "Go."
By the time Mike is out the door, Tom has backed away to the couch and is glaring. "I don't need you to babysit me," he says, but even in Tom's voice, Jon can hear the doubt. This has been going on far too long and it isn't doing anyone any good.
"Yeah, no." Jon sighs and slumps down beside him, staring at the ceiling. And the day had begun so well too. "I really don't need this first thing in the morning, you know."
Tom glances as the sick-pack. "Just one drink," he says, shaking his head, and Jon wants to cry. Because even though Tom sees some of it, other parts of it he's blind against. "He didn't have to flip."
"It's been much more than just one drink lately," Jon says, the sick weight in his chest coming out in his voice as Tom snaps his head up to look at Jon. "Get a grip! I like alcohol as much as the next person, but even I know you don't go on stage drunk."
Tom looks away, a sullen look on his face. "I wasn't going to."
"Experience says otherwise." Jon sighs, pulling a hand over his face. He doubts Tom is listening to any of this really - what's wrong is so far beyond this Jon can't even fully imagine it. If there's a way to stop the inevitable, Jon can't find it, and now he just has to let it go. But he still tries. "Just. Just pull back a little, OK. They'll back off."
Tom makes a sound and Jon decides to take it as agreement, still stiff from sleeping on a couch and wanting a few more cups of coffee before he has to work. The day began well and this isn't how he wants it to continue. So he heads back to the bunks to get a change of clothes and grab his dirty ones. Someone mentioned a Laundromat up the street and Jon's clothes are getting grungy enough that he's borrowing stuff from others.
Jon didn't really expect to run into Brendon there, sitting cross-legged on one of the machines with a notebook in his hand, humming to himself as Zack looms across the room keeping an eye on the doors. When Jon enters, Zack gives him a nod that Jon returns before heading towards the machine next to Brendon.
"Hi," Jon offers, setting down his IKEA-issue laundry bag with a soft thud.
Brendon startles, looks up at Jon with wide eyes. For a second, his face is frozen, then a smile flashes over it and Jon finds the breath he thought he'd lost when Brendon didn't welcome him. "Jon Walker," Brendon says, nudging him with a toe. "You didn't mention a convergence in the Laundromat when you left."
"This morning I didn't know I had to do laundry," Jon replies with a smile and starts to load his machine, stuffing everything not white into it.
Brendon watches and tuts, nudging Jon's back. "Ever heard of sorting the clothes?"
Jon glances up, then down. Looks fine to him. "Warm, white clothes. Cold, everything else," he recites. Works fine for me."
Brendon shudders, leaning protectively over the clothes heap beside him consisting of blacks and red. "You must not have had laundry on your chore list as a kid."
"How did you ever guess?" Jon asks with a quirk of his mouth and turns on the machine. He glances towards the toilets. Putting his hands in dirty clothes always makes him want to wash his hands. But no, it's better if he takes the opportunity to talk with Brendon.
"I don't know, maybe the fact that your clothes will come out discolored?" Brendon suggests and leans back on his hands, feet kicking idly.
Jon shrugs and hops up next to Brendon. "It's mostly jeans anyway." He kicks off his flip-flops and pulls his legs up, turning to Brendon. "What are you writing?"
"Sheet music," Brendon replies, biting his lip and tilting the book towards Jon while watching him under lowered lashes. "Nothing in particular, just snatches that come to mind."
Jon hums the stanza on the side, liking the way the music tumbles over his lips. The way it dips only to crescendo and then turn itself in a circle and begin anew. "It's pretty good," Jon says, sliding a finger down the page, hesitating before turning it and reading the rest.
"Yeah?" Brendon ducks his head, smiling broadly. "I haven't showed it to anyone yet."
"Thanks for showing me," Jon says and nudges him in the shoulder as he hands the book back. It feels strange to be trusted with something like this, but also oh so good, because it means he might still be forgiven. But he still can't help but hesitate before taking the bull by the horns. "I'm sorry for avoiding you."
Brendon flinches and looks down. "Yeah, me too," he says, looking at the floor, and there's something aching in his voice that reminds Jon of Pete on the days the demons in his head grow stronger and can't quite be contained. "I thought we were friends."
"We are," Jon says, the words falling out of him as he tries to catch Brendon's eyes, feeling breathless with want to reassure. So many broken, so few words and so many times he hasn't quite been enough. But this time he wants to. Wants to in a way that he hasn't felt since the last month of 5o4. "Just... I have known TAI for a long time. It's hard to be pulled between that and you guys."
"I can imagine." Brendon's smile is bittersweet and he still doesn't look at Jon, but there's a change in there somewhere that makes Jon think he's doing all right. "I didn't have many friends before the band, you know. My family is Mormon - you might imagine what they thought about having me as a son."
Jon blinks, then clenches his hands at the sudden urge to hit something as the tallies in his mind suddenly combine into a whole. Alcohol for Ryan, religion for Brendon and two things Jon has yet to find for Spencer and Brent. "I'm sure they love you anyway," he says in a careful voice, remembering times when Brendon walked away from a conversation to take a call, the times he greeted someone with backstage passes in the larger cities.
"Oh, they do," Brendon replies with a little sigh that seems to slump the tension from his shoulders. "But it's hard. For a while there, we didn't speak and I don't think things have been the same since." He glances up at Jon through his lashes and the knot in Jon's chest eases as the smile on his lips is reflected in his eyes. "I'm not telling you this so you can pity me," Brendon adds, but he doesn't really seem to think Jon will, and he's damned right about that. "I just... I wanted you to know."
Jon nods, edging a bit closer until he can feel Brendon warm against his shoulder, needing that bit of closeness as much as Brendon seems to. "Must've been hard," Jon says and thinks back at everyone through the years, through the scenes. So many stories, so much hurt and yet Panic's stories are among the first to truly touch him. "I can't say I've ever been through something like that, but..." He looks at Brendon, willing him to believe. "I won't abandon you guys."
"Yeah, I'm getting that now," Brendon says with a smile and a nudge to Jon's shoulder, and just like that, he seems all right again. "Even though I seem to remember Tom having a lot to do with that little epiphany."
Jon shakes his head and doesn't bother to hold back a chuckle. "Best friends, I guess." He looks at Brendon - he seems in a much better mood now; his shoulder less tense and his smile less pasted on and more genuine. Which is good, as a sad Brendon is a pitiful Brendon. But in either case, he really has had enough heart-to-hearts for the morning. "Want to play checkers while we wait?" Jon asks.
Brendon grins, holds up his pen. "Tic-tac-toe?"
They end up idling all of the laundry circuit away goofing around. When tic-tac-toe becomes boring, they play around with the music Brendon wrote and when they tire of that, the laundry is finished, so they can head back just in time for practice. When Jon slings his bass around his neck and plays along with the songs he knows, it's with the usual energetic Brendon bouncing around and Jon can't help but fool around in return. Ryan catches his eye and nods half-way through and Jon grins at him, spinning around to play to Spencer for a while until he smiles as well. Only Brent remains tense, but they are going to talk and Jon has faith they will fix things. So for now, he simply plays.
index | part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | Art | Fanmix
The next morning, Jon is up bright and early with the rest of the techs, leaving the band bus while its occupants are still asleep and snoring. The lucky bastards won't have to get up for hours yet while Jon lugs around equipment to assure it follows them back to the US and doesn't end up in Mongolia or Slovenia. By the time that's all done, the equipment that is going with them in the cabin stacked by the gates, Jon is dead tired and slumped on his cabin bag, head on his knees.
"Here," someone says, holding a coffee cup beneath Jon's nose, jiggling it temptingly. Jon can feel the warmth of it, the slightly spicy scent. He looks up, managing a brief smile at Brendon as he meets Brendon's eyes, looking at him kind of weirdly.
"Thanks,” Jon says, taking a sip on the coffee. There's hazelnut in it. Yum.
"You looked tired," Brendon says and crouches down in front of him; poking him in the arm and wiggling a little to find a position that'll let him keep his balance. Jon ignores him, concentrating on getting as much caffeine into himself in an as short time as possible. Bless Brendon for getting him a large. "You're coming on the next tour too, aren't you?"
Jon stifles a yawn. "Yeah. As if TAI would even make it without me."
"Hey!" comes from somewhere behind him and Jon turns to smirk at Sisky.
"You know it," Jon tells him, then turns back to Brendon. "Why?"
"Oh, nothing," Brendon says airily, waving one hand a little. Jon takes the opportunity to sip at his coffee. Brendon's flailing can take time sometimes. "It would be nice to get to know you better, that's all."
Jon nods agreeably. "I'm nice to know."
Brendon blinks, laughs. "You are, actually." He's still smiling as he gets to his feet and peers across the hall before nudging Jon's foot with a toe. "You should come with me and say goodbye to us Vegas people," he says, nodding towards the group behind him somewhere. Zack probably hid them after the first fan girl spotted them an hour ago - Jon had heard the squealing. "I think we’re heading off to security any minute now."
For a second, Jon considers whether he really wants back up on his feet, then he sighs and does. After all, Brendon did bring him coffee. "Lead the way."
Zack has gathered the band in a secluded part of the airport, guarding them like little chicks, and when Zack glares at them as soon as they come within sight, Jon begins to suspect that Brendon sneaked away. Judging from the carefully blank expression on Ryan's face, he had help too. Jon holds up his hands. "Don't kill me," he says. "I was just sitting there."
"Should have been over here," Zack says pointedly, which, Jon has to admit, has a certain amount of truth to it. He's been spending a lot of time with at least Brent, and it would have been kind of impolite not to see them off.
"Couldn't leave without saying goodbye," Brendon says and bounces a little, looking pleadingly at Zack. They might only have had him for a few days, but they've already wrapped him around their little fingers. Jon smiles as Zack visibly wavers and sighs.
"If you'd asked me, I could have given you his cell phone number," Zack says and twaps Brendon lightly on the head. "Don't do that again." He glances at Ryan. "And that goes for you too. Don't think I didn't notice you distracting me."
Ryan looks down with a tiny smile and Brendon pouts as he herds Jon over to the others. Jon sidles in next to Brent, looking around for a place to discard his empty coffee mug. Spencer catches him looking and gestures towards a cleaner a couple of yards away. "No litter bins," he says. "Security risk or something."
Jon nods and heads over to the cleaner, handing over the cup with thanks. Zack is looking at his watch as Jon returns, the rest of the band watching Jon. He kind of feels like he's some animal in a zoo - what are they expecting him to do? Break out in a run and flee? "Seeing something interesting?" Jon asks, and it maybe comes out a little grumpily.
"Not much else to watch here," Brent points out mildly and nudges him in the shoulder as he falls in next to Brent again. And yeah, maybe he's right about that. Jon glances out the floor-to-ceiling windows. Just a hell of a lot of pavement and ugly buildings.
"Security in five," Zack interrupts and looks at Jon. "So say your goodbyes."
Jon rolls his eyes, because really, what does Zack think he is, five? He nevertheless hugs them all, one by one, saving Brent to last. "You have my number?" he asks as he steps away.
Brent nods, the corners of his mouth turned down. Jon sympathizes - he'll miss Brent. "Yeah. I'll text you when we come in."
"Do that," Jon tells him, then looks at Zack, who's watching impatiently. "Guess you have to go now."
"You'll see them soon enough," Zack says dryly when Jon makes a mock sad-face. "I know you're on the payroll for Truckstops."
"But anyway." Jon grins though and nods at him - he likes Zack - then turns to the others. "Safe journey," he offers and they smile back, Brent adding a squeeze of Jon's arm as he passes by. Jon watches them from there until they disappear out of sight, and then claims his baggage again. Four hours until his own flight, two until check in. Jon absently rubs his arm. Yeah, this will be a riot of fun.
For the rest of the time, Jon ends up playing cards with the other techs, earning himself a decent amount of one and two-pound coins, whatever he's supposed to do with those. He could exchange them, he guesses, but doesn't really want to go through the hassle. So when check-in finally opens, Jon stuffs them into his jacket (not his pants pocket - he learned that the bad way when coming here) and forgets all about them. It's finally time to head home for a tiny little while.
***
They have three days off before the next tour, Jon included. He spends most of those days with Cassie, taking the time just to enjoy her company and relax. When he leaves again, it will be for an even longer time than the UK tour and they both feel it - tour can be hard on a relationship for sure, but they will do what they can to make the most of their time.
The flight is, thank God, not as long as the previous time. He has been booked on the same flight as Bill, who needs to be at their starting point early for an interview. The others, Tom included, won't fly out until tomorrow. Jon doesn't particularly envy them: this way he and the other techs (and Bill) have first choice of bunks and such. Not that bottom bunks are that popular, but anyway.
If someone asked Jon, he would admit that he is actually kind of looking forward to this tour, long as it is. Sure, he won't be home again for ages, but he will have Tom. And he will have Brent and the other Panic!s, who have reached second headliners this time around. Jon smiles at the thought. They have begun to get to know each other and he's definitely looking forwards to meeting them again.
Bill and Jon are picked up at the airport by their tour manager, heading straight for the buses as soon as their stuff has been thrown into the trunk. Jon ends up being the one carrying it onto the bus, Bill being whisked away at once for interviews. Jon doesn't complain though; simply dumps their stuff in a bunk and stakes out his. Then he heads off to help with inventory.
By the time evening comes around, Jon's dead tired but everything is ready. Shrugging deep into his jacket, he heads towards the TAI bus and hopes someone has supplied it with cold beer. Jon could certainly use one.
To Jon's surprise, someone appears to be waiting for him at the bus. It isn't Bill - the lack of height and reed-thinness says that - and Jon doesn't recognize the black coat and red cap, or the slightly brownish hair sticking out from beneath it. He frowns a little and turns to approach at an angle. TAI has their share of rabid fans and he really doesn't want to run into one of them.
As Jon closes in on the someone, he turns, apparently hearing Jon's steps, and Jon breaks out in a huge smile and walks faster. "Brent!" he says, running his eyes over him. Brent's cut his hair - it doesn't even reach his shoulders now - which makes it look a lot lighter. No wonder he didn't recognize him. "I almost didn't realize it was you."
Brent grins a little, tugging at the cap. His eyes are dancing, meeting Jon's head on and they make him want to pull him into a hug. "It's the hair, isn't it," he says and weighs back on his heels. "I promised Mom I would cut it if she didn't freak out over the UK."
Jon tells his hesitance to go to hell and tugs Brent into a rough embrace, Brent's hands going to Jon's back and holding him just as tight before letting go as Jon takes a step backwards. "Looks good," Jon tells him earnestly. "You're here early?"
Brent shrugs a little and, yeah, it's good to see him again, even if it only has been three days. "Interview," he says, looking down. "I wouldn't have minded staying home for a little longer."
Jon winces. Brent really doesn't seem happy - he'd thought Brent was over that, but evidently not. But then again, Jon really doesn't have any ground to stand on. He still remembers that last tour with 5o4Plan. "I know what you mean," Jon replies and his voice is quiet in remembrance. "I feel like I barely have the time to say 'hello' before it's time to leave again."
"Yeah." Brent bites his lip, looks up at Jon. There's something in his eyes - a hesitance, a question that makes something in Jon respond with a yes without knowing what's being asked of him. "I'm thinking of..." He shakes his head, brows knitted. "No, forget that." Brent sighs and Jon knows he won't be asked just yet, which is probably a good thing, judging from his reaction. "Want to come over to our bus and play some cards or something?" Brent asks instead.
"I'm kind of beat," Jon hedges and it's the truth. If he doesn't get to sit down soon, he'll throw a tantrum. "You could stay with me as I get something to eat though. I wouldn't mind some company."
Brent hesitates for a brief second, then gestures towards the door. Jon smiles at him, and a surprising amount of the reason for that smile is relief. "Lead on."
They go inside, and Jon heads straight for the fridge while Brent peels off his outer clothes and slumps down in a couch, watching as Jon rummages through the fridge contents. Bill called earlier and said he'd ordered Chinese, so Jon digs out that along with a can of Coke rather than the beer he knows Brent is still kind of uncomfortable around.
"You'll be with us for the whole tour?" Brent asks as Jon starts to put things on the tale. He's at Jon through his lashes, and it almost looks like he misses having his hair to hide behind. Jon doesn't miss it though - he likes being able to see Brent's face.
Jon nods, popping a piece of bamboo into his mouth, and wonders a little why Brent's asking. "Yeah, I signed on for the whole year, even though they'll let me go if something comes up."
"That's good." Brent looks at Jon, eyes narrowing a little. Then he snatches a dumpling from Jon's plate, smirking as Jon mock glares. "By the way, I wanted to ask you something." He looks sideways at Jon and if he isn't about to ask something important, Jon will eat his bass. "The guys and I...we're wondering--" Brent seems to steel himself and looks straight into Jon's eyes. "It's my sister's birthday in the middle of March and I really want to be there for her - she's turning eighteen. I know you're kind of busy, but..." Brent looks frustrated and Jon takes pity on him, catching his eye and smiling.
"You want to know if I can fill in," he says and Brent nods, eyes down. Why he would ever think Jon would say no, Jon doesn't have a clue.
"If you want to," Brent says cautiously. "Ryan's a little... He's careful and we can't just... He trusts you."
Jon's heart beats once, twice, he's mind at a stand-still. "You don't know me."
"But we like you," Brent says quietly, reaching over to touch Jon's hand briefly, frozen half-way to the food. "And there's still time."
Something knots inside Jon and he can't breathe. Something is changing and he can't figure out if it's good or bad. All he knows is that he can't say no. Can never say no. So he catches Brent's hand and squeezes.
"Of course I'm helping," Jon says and he knows he's smiling. "You'll have to teach me the songs though."
Brent smiles brilliantly and the knot inside Jon dissolves, flaring into something hot and demanding. "We will," Brent promises, then looks like he can't control himself any longer and launches himself around the table, hugging Jon tightly. It tastes of relief and desperation and Jon clings back, somehow wanting to absorb it into himself and get the Brent from the last part of the UK tour back. "Thank you," Brent mutters into Jon's neck.
Jon smiles and lets his head fall to Brent's shoulder, just for a moment. "You're welcome."
***
Jon tells TAI about it the next day during a TAI TV meeting and the guys nods a little, Tom hitting Jon in the shoulder with a pointed smirk, but that's pretty much it. Things with Brent and the others start to change immediately though, beginning with having Jon along on every practice and sound check he's free to attend. They go through the songs one by one, playing them until Jon's fingers find the chords by themselves. He learns the lyrics, sings along whenever he hears the songs for practice and, eventually, even learns to like them for what they are.
By the end of the first week, Jon knows not only 'we don't care about critics' by heart, but also the gossip song with the whore bride, which, in Jon's humble opinion, is an achievement, because it's a proverbial roller coaster to play.
The others in the band seem to take his presence well too. Brendon and Brent are the ones that really talk to him, but Ryan's nice enough and Spencer isn't glaring, which is quite an improvement in Jon's opinion. He's not quite sure why Spencer went from friendly to Mr. McGlare, but he really hopes it'll reverse itself. Especially as Jon feels at home with the band and sometimes, it even feels like he's in a band again.
A week or two into the tour, things start to change again. Jon hasn't really thought about it, busy with work, but eventually the change is large enough that no one can ignore it: Panic! is having a second breakthrough. There's no other way to say it. The crowds coming to see them rather than TAI are increasing exponentially and even as they do, the tension between TAI and Panic! grows. Because being buzz worthy in the UK is far from stealing the buzz at home.
Jon has known Bill for a long time. He knows how much Bill's put into TAI, into every show and every song. And no matter how much he likes Panic! (Brent), the thorn in his heart digs in just a little bit deeper as Bill's face falls a little more every day, his eyes losing their sparkle even as he still gives his all during every show. It will not be enough, Jon's mind says, and somehow, despite the fact that Brent and the others are his friends, Jon pulls away, as if to compensate for the crowds that no longer see TAI but Panic!. He seeks out Tom instead of Brent, closes his eyes against the hurt and confusion in Brent's eyes before they shutter. Ignores the way his heart slowly crumbles.
The second time Jon comes to practice and don't say anything not strictly needed, Brent approaches him somewhere halfway through, a hesitant look on his face. "Is there something wrong?" he asks and there's no doubt he cares, no doubt there's something between them that makes him ask.
Jon shakes his head anyway, denying it, shutting down and not looking. "I'm fine."
Brent stretches out a hesitant hand. Jon backs away, head still bowed, and he can almost physically feel the tentative ties between them snap as Brent's hand fall back to his side. Brent doesn't try again, and every time any of the others try to talk to him, Jon blows them off until they don't try again. And if it hurts not to let Brendon touch him, to ignore Ryan's smiles and the way Spencer's frowns were slowly disappearing, Jon completely ignores it.
***
It's a Tuesday when something breaks. Panic!'s show was great, the venue full with the energy of the crowd, but when Panic! enters the stage for the last encore, Spencer walks to his drum set with his hands clenched tightly enough around his sticks Jon is afraid they will break, and Brent practically stomps to his mark, face flushed and bottom lip angry red. Opposite to every other fight within the band Jon has witnessed, Ryan ignores Spencer as he passes him and instead claps Brent on the shoulder and smiles at him. Brendon walks onto the stage as if not sure where to go, hovering between the lines drawn with his brows knitted and his hands uncharacteristically still.
Jon wants to go over, ask what's wrong - everything was fine during practice! - but can't, busy with preparations for TAI's performance and knowing that they probably wouldn't want him there anyway.
Bill, in contrast, is on a high tonight, singing his heart out until the public screams and the band plays harder than they have before, grinning and sweating but never stopping until the event is over. He comes off the stage beaming, plastered with sweat and eyes so bright Jon wants to beam back but can't, because he remembers Ryan's tense jaw and Brent's white knuckles, the way Brendon rushed past him on the way to the dressing room and Spencer disappeared before anyone even saw him. So Jon keeps his head down and does his work, ignoring his tight chest and the way he can't help but glance towards the dressing rooms every tenth second.
When Jon gets back to the bus, Tom is waiting for him, bundled up and beer in hand. He doesn't have one for Jon and Jon glares a little at him. Tom only looks back and when Jon gets within hearing range, Tom raises his beer in a greeting. "Bill says not to be stupid," he says.
Jon's heart thumps once, but he ignores it, hooking his thumbs into his jacket. "Oh?"
Tom shrugs, gets up, and if Jon hadn't known Tom since he was a child, he would have thought it was just a random subject. "Anyone can see you're only hurting yourself by pulling away from the Panic! dudes," Tom says. His voice is sharp and full of undertones Jon wishes he didn't understand. "And your boy crush looks like someone kicked his puppy. Bill says to do something about it. It makes him want to cry."
Jon's mouth twitches a little and he raises an eyebrow. Bill, cry? Yeah right. Tom cracks a smile. "OK, maybe not cry, but you know what I mean." He catches Jon's eye and holds it with a fond smile on his face Jon hasn't seen in a while, usually replaced by sadness and anger. "Go see them--" him "--and make up for being a total douche. We voted - you don't get in until the littlest band is happy."
Jon mind's blanks for a second and then it's all he can do not to stalk away immediately. But still... TAI are his friends, he can't just...
Tom punches him hard in the shoulder and Jon staggers to the side, hand flying up to clutch at his shoulder as he stares at his best friend. "Tom."
Tom shakes his head and with a frustrated movement, he pitches his beer into the side of the bus. "Don't Tom me," he snaps. "It was a group decision. And Jon, you don't want me to say no. So stop dicking around." Tom shakes his head, exhales, looks at him. Jon can't breathe, the air stuck in his throat, because this is it, he can feel it. If he does this, there's no coming back and Tom is... "You're my best friend, there's no changing that," Tom finally says, and his voice is even in a way that doesn't suit him. "And these guys..." he nods towards the lounge, "they might feel angry, sad, whatever right now, but they've done this a long time. They will get over it."
And somehow, those are the words that ease the weight on Jon's shoulders, lets his mind open up until he can find the words again. Speak. "Yeah," he breathes out, and then looks almost involuntarily towards Panic's bus. "You'll tell the others?"
Tom snorts, the humor back in his eyes, and thumps the door hard. Someone on the other side yelps and the bus rocks as if considerable weight has suddenly been thrown against the opposite wall. "I think they already know," he says and Jon laughs. Then he turns and starts walking.
Panic!'s bus has been parked on the opposite side from TAI's lately, as if the bus drivers want to do their part in keeping the bands docile. It means that Jon can't quite see it from where he is, but will soon enough as he rounds on of the trailers. It's brightly lit from within and Jon can see people moving inside, crossing the windows. No one from the band though and Jon sighs. It's just his luck if he finally gets his head out of his ass and they're not there.
Jon knocks on the door. Brent told him the security code a few weeks ago, but he doesn't doubt it has been changed by now. The tech that opens it takes one look at him and points towards the nearby Starbucks. Jon nods his thanks and heads in that direction, and soon, he can see Zack in there, and where Zack is, Panic! is.
The store is half-empty, only occasionally dotted with giggling fan girls, glancing at Zack every now and then as if expecting Brent and the others to pop out of the woodwork. Jon ignores them, orders himself a caramel hot chocolate and walks over to Zack. He's been watching Jon since he entered, leaning against a pillar in what can only be a deceptively relaxed manner, coffee cup in hand.
"Walker," Zack says, nodding once. Jon meets his eyes - he deserves everything he gets after this whole mess. Especially as he's still not sure if he's doing the right thing. "You've done something about those divided loyalties of yours."
Jon rubs the back of his neck, fights not to lower his gaze. "Tom did it for me," he admits, peering around Zack. "They're here?"
Zack nods and shifts a little, tilting one shoulder towards the back. He looks neutral again and only then Jon realizes Zack had tensed up when Jon walked over. "Private booth," Zack says, then hesitates, giving Jon a judging look. Apparently he finds what he needs - Jon has no clue what, because the only thing he does is try to look normal and level despite the fact his stomach is roiling and his mind is calling him a traitor at an increasingly loud volume. He isn't even sure which band it's talking about anymore. "If you want Brent, you should wait by the restroom."
Jon's eyes slip shut and he bites down on his lip. Hard. "Thanks." He forces them open again, smiles and heads off, wavering between the booth and the restrooms for a second before heading for the booth. The remaining Panic!s are seated inside, discussing something in quiet voices. Jon clears his throat, just a little, and their heads snap up. Brendon flinches as he sees Jon and Spencer's eyes narrows, the blue deepening into ice. Ryan looks at Jon, eyes sharp, before inclining his head infinitesimally.
"Zack told you where Brent is?" Ryan asks and his voice is so flat Jon flinches. Before, he could hear Ryan's emotions through the monotone, hear the inflections, the way Ryan feels. Now there's nothing, a complete blank. He fights against closing his eyes again - he can't go back now.
"Yeah, just dropping this off." Jon places his drink on the table, looks at them. He thought he would just go, thought Brent would be the one to make his heart clench, the one that would make him work for it. But this is reality, this is realizing that the others are walled off as well, to the point that the past months might as well never have happened. "We OK?" slips past his guarded mouth and Jon feels like hitting himself, because things are so far past OK he doesn't know where to go to find the path back.
Spencer's eyes flashes and Jon sees an echo of the feeling that broke him away from the band earlier on stage. "You gonna freeze us out?" he challenges, but there's something else in his voice that sounds hurt over a lost friendship and things are just continuing to spin out of Jon's control. He clenches his hands, tries to find something to say, but there's really only one thing he can say.
So he says, "No.", almost before Spencer stops talking, his tongue almost tying itself into a knot in the hurry to answer. "I've been a douche, I don't deny that."
"You'd better not," Spencer says in a strangled kind of voice, as if biting back something he really wants to say but can't. This, Jon realizes, is the only thing he’ll get from that corner. And Brendon has still not said a word.
Jon turns his head and Brendon is huddled in on himself, looking at the table and so far away from the personable friend Jon has known he seems like a whole other person. "Brendon," Jon says and he's surprised at how much he wants to reach out, find the boy-man that bounces circles around him and teaches him to play Panic! songs on the piano.
Brendon looks up, tries on a smile that doesn't fit on his face. "I'll be fine. Go make things right?"
And that's it really. Jon can't stay and make Brendon face him, however much he wants to. Because there's still... There's still Brent, and not even Brendon... Jon nods, closing his mind against the silence still between him and the others and walk away. He can't do anything about that. Not right now.
The restrooms lie towards the back of the store and luckily, they aren't unisex but divided into men's and ladies. Jon can hear someone washing his hands inside, which in face of the relative emptiness of the place probably means Brent. He heads inside.
It is Brent, but he isn't washing his hands. Instead he's leaning on the wash basin, staring at himself in the mirror, hair hanging in his face. His shoulders are tense, tense enough they're almost shaking. He doesn't notice Jon entering and Jon falters, comes to a stop. "Brent," he says and his voice comes out in a croak, loud enough that both Jon and Brent jump, and in Brent's case, slams his hand hard against the faucet.
Brent curses at length through clenched teeth, then looks up at Jon and stops so suddenly the walls echo with cut-off curses. "Jon," Brent forces out and his eyes are shuttered in a way they haven't been before. "What are you doing here?"
Jon wets his lips, taking a step closer, then stops as Brent almost automatically leans back. "Someone told me I was a douche. They were right."
Brent's expression doesn't change - if anything, it grows more rigid. "But why are you here?"
Jon wants to tense, wants to move in and mold himself to Brent, embracing him and never letting go, but he doesn't, forcing his arms to hang loose, his feet to stand still. "You're my friend," he says instead, putting everything he can, everything he feels into his voice and it comes out shaky. "And I was a douche. I want to say I'm sorry."
Brent laughs then, but it isn't a happy laugh and the tension in his shoulders is still there. "I bet you are if you had to be talked into coming here."
Jon shoves down the impulse to protest, forcing himself to think, because this? This isn't the Brent he knows, not at all, and something is going on that Jon doesn't understand. "That's not what this is," he says, keeping his voice even. "Brent, you..." Jon draws for a breath, and then chokes as he recognizes the way Brent stands, the way his eyes flickers to the door behind Jon. "That's not what this is about," Jon realizes and takes a step closer, not stopping this time. Brent tenses further, but doesn't move. "There's something else."
Brent's eyes flickers away from Jon. "No."
"Yes," Jon insists and then he's close enough to touch but doesn't, because if he does, Brent might just fall into pieces and Jon doesn't want to be that person. Can't be that person. "Something's wrong and I wasn't there." And you can't talk to the others because they're involved. Jon chokes on his breath and for a second, he can't breathe past the lump of guilt in his throat.
Brent shakes his head violently, hands clenched and head bowed; refusing to say anything, refusing to relax and let go.
"Fuck," Jon says with feeling, pulling a hand over his face, suddenly wanting to hide or - he doesn't know - turn back time or something. "I really fucked this up, didn't I?" He looks past Brent's shoulder, staring at white tile and soap dispensers. His hands open and shut and Jon has never in his life wanted to hit himself as much as he wants to right now. But that won't make anything better, so he clenches his jaws and looks at Brent. "Fine. If you can't tell me."
And he takes a quick step forwards and grabs Brent, pulling him into his arms without regard for either of their physical comfort. Brent resists, but then their bodies collide in an uncomfortable clash of angles, Jon's arms holding him tight and he collapses, suddenly dead weight in Jon's arms. Jon can feel him shaking, the wet warmth of his mouth through his shirt.
"Yeah," Jon says to himself, hands clenched tight in Brent's shirt and face pressed against Brent's hair. "I really fucked up." But he doesn't let go and Brent doesn't step away.
They stay like that for a while, until Brent finally relaxes and Jon's eyes are burning. It almost hurts to separate and for some reason, Jon doesn't want to let go. But he does and they return to the others, shuffling into the empty spots at the booth. Jon's chocolate has grown cold, but he doesn't mind much. He didn't come for the drinks.
The silence in the booth remains uncomfortable for a while as the others try to read them and figure out if it's all right to talk. In the end, it's Brendon who curls out of his hunched pose and glares at Jon in a way Jon didn't know he could; it's all the more potent for it. His hands are clenched around the edge of the table, knuckles white as he leans towards Jon as if to threaten him. "Don't do that again," Brendon says voice full of edges that seems to cut into Jon like knives. "Your friends aren't assholes, so you really don't have any reason to be one."
Jon sits still, not sure what do, just knowing that the wrong thing might be disastrous. Instead, it's Brent who moves, rolling his eyes and shuffling forwards in his seat. "Brendon," he says, giving Brendon a look Jon can't see.
Brendon shakes his head minutely, eyes still fastened on Jon. "No," he says to Brent, and then addresses Jon. "I get why you did it," he says and seems to be forcing the words out, "but we can't help the situation and we don't want to lose you as a friend."
Jon wets his lips, opening his mouth and closing it, before opening it again, trying to find the words. "I know," he says finally. "But it doesn't make it any easier." Brendon opens his mouth, but Jon plows on. "But I'm going to try this time."
Brendon grimaces and crosses his arms, looking at Jon with dark eyes. "You'd better," he says, voice low.
Jon looks down. He had known that Panic! doesn't have that many friends on the road and he had still cut them off. But then again, I've always been a fuck up.
Brent nudges him in the shoulder and Jon looks up, hiding partly behind his lashes. There's a smile on Brent's face, a drawn one, but a smile nonetheless and Jon straightens, looking at him. "Let's just start over," Brent says in a low voice. "You have some time tonight, right?" Jon nods. "Come over. We'll talk and we'll settle things. I want my friend back." I shouldn't have had to lose you in the first place.
Jon closes his eyes, the unsaid words bouncing in his mind, then looks at Brent, looks at all of them, and agrees.
***
That evening is both awkward and depressing. No one knows how to act - Jon feels like a stupid fuck, Brent is still in his not-talking mood, Brendon swivels between hurt puppy-eyes and looking down at the floor, curled on the couch with his feet tucked up beneath him. Ryan and Spencer have appropriated one of the couches, Spencer tense and frowning while Ryan glares at him and rolls his eyes, but they're whispering among themselves and Jon chooses to take that as a good sign, even if it's surreal that Ryan seems to be the least affected person in the group. But at least that makes it less surprising when Ryan, after an hour of everyone staring in silence, rolls his eyes so violently Jon thinks they will pop out for a second.
"For God's sake!" Ryan explodes with such force Brendon flinches, looking up for the first time in ten minutes. "So Jon avoided us for a week because we're indirectly hurting his friends. Who cares? The last time Brendon hid Spencer's shoes, they didn't speak outside of interviews for five days. And let's not even mention how Brent's been avoiding talking about something for longer than that. At least Jon had a fucking reason."
Brendon flinches again when Ryan swears and Jon adds another tally in his mind towards the possibility of Brendon having a religious upbringing. Then he winces as Ryan looks at him with those sharp, sharp eyes he tends to turn upon the world when he feels it's particularly stupid and slides straight back into feeling like a stupid fuck.
"You," Ryan tells him in a voice that invites no protests, "are going to spend a lot of time tomorrow talking to people." He turns to Brent. "You, are going to be one of them. Get whatever you can't tell us out of your head and tell Jon, or I'm going to strangle you, I swear to God."
Brent flushes and looks sideways at Jon, but nods. Jon leans into him for a second, wanting to give him that much of an assurance. "After practice?" Brent mumbles and Jon nods. There will be time enough then, he thinks, and if there isn't, he will make some.
Somehow, Ryan's little speech makes everyone breathe easier and when Brendon suggests they put in a Disney movie to watch, no one protests. They all end up snuggled together on the couch; Brendon's head on Jon's shoulder, Brent's legs resting against his and Ryan and Spencer taking up Brent's other side. Jon sinks down against them and lets himself feel like a part of this for the first time, letting himself accept the warmth and relax until he's leaning on Brent like Brendon is leaning on him. And that's how he falls asleep, curled up on a couch that really isn't meant to fit five people. He doesn't regret it, even when they wake up the next morning with stiff necks and sore bodies. Instead Jon smiles and helps Spencer make breakfast while Brent makes coffee and Ryan and Brendon lock themselves into the back for a phone interview. And it almost feels like home.
***
The next day brings many changes to Jon's presence on tour, courtesy of Brent, Brendon and Tom; and not necessarily in that order. It begins when Jon stumbles onto the TAI bus, yawning and stiff, to be faced with a stand-off between Mike and Tom. Tom's jaw is clenched so tight Jon winces and he hasn't seen Mike's face this rage black for months. Neither of them takes any notice of Jon, and for a second, he's tempted to back out and pretend it never happened. Their squabbles are their own and he has better to do than to play judge. But then Tom raises his fist and Jon moves forwards without thinking, putting himself between them. When Tom begins to hit things, everything inevitably gets worse.
"Tom!" Jon snaps, catching Tom's eyes and holding them. "Don't."
The muscles in Tom's cheek jumps as he focuses on Jon. He looks two seconds from snapping, and really, Jon wants to hit him himself but he won't, because differently from Tom he still knows better. "He," Tom says.
"I don't care," Jon says, squeezing Tom's fist and pushing down, and doesn't dig his fingernails into the soft skin of his arm, no matter how much he wants to. "I don't care if it was him or you or whatever, but I know you. And if you do this, you won't be able to stop." He turns his head just far enough he can look at Mike, eyes narrowed. "And you. You know better than to wind him up like this."
"He went too far," Mike replies, eyes hot, then visibly tamps down on his feelings and shakes his head. Which is good really - Mike has a much better grip on his temper than Tom when he remembers, but if he doesn't? The results can be just as spectacular as the times Tom gets loose. "I'm going out." Mike nods towards Tom, and this time, there's something different in his eyes than anger. Jon closes his eyes and wishes he didn't know what it is. "He was getting drunk."
Jon had seen the six-pack, had hoped it was from yesterday. Foolish of him really. "I know." His shoulders slumped. "I'll take care of it."
Mike shakes his head but still moves towards the door. "That's not it," he tells Jon. "You shouldn't have to be the one."
"I know." Jon grits his teeth. He really does, but it doesn't make this easier. Or any less necessary. "Go."
By the time Mike is out the door, Tom has backed away to the couch and is glaring. "I don't need you to babysit me," he says, but even in Tom's voice, Jon can hear the doubt. This has been going on far too long and it isn't doing anyone any good.
"Yeah, no." Jon sighs and slumps down beside him, staring at the ceiling. And the day had begun so well too. "I really don't need this first thing in the morning, you know."
Tom glances as the sick-pack. "Just one drink," he says, shaking his head, and Jon wants to cry. Because even though Tom sees some of it, other parts of it he's blind against. "He didn't have to flip."
"It's been much more than just one drink lately," Jon says, the sick weight in his chest coming out in his voice as Tom snaps his head up to look at Jon. "Get a grip! I like alcohol as much as the next person, but even I know you don't go on stage drunk."
Tom looks away, a sullen look on his face. "I wasn't going to."
"Experience says otherwise." Jon sighs, pulling a hand over his face. He doubts Tom is listening to any of this really - what's wrong is so far beyond this Jon can't even fully imagine it. If there's a way to stop the inevitable, Jon can't find it, and now he just has to let it go. But he still tries. "Just. Just pull back a little, OK. They'll back off."
Tom makes a sound and Jon decides to take it as agreement, still stiff from sleeping on a couch and wanting a few more cups of coffee before he has to work. The day began well and this isn't how he wants it to continue. So he heads back to the bunks to get a change of clothes and grab his dirty ones. Someone mentioned a Laundromat up the street and Jon's clothes are getting grungy enough that he's borrowing stuff from others.
Jon didn't really expect to run into Brendon there, sitting cross-legged on one of the machines with a notebook in his hand, humming to himself as Zack looms across the room keeping an eye on the doors. When Jon enters, Zack gives him a nod that Jon returns before heading towards the machine next to Brendon.
"Hi," Jon offers, setting down his IKEA-issue laundry bag with a soft thud.
Brendon startles, looks up at Jon with wide eyes. For a second, his face is frozen, then a smile flashes over it and Jon finds the breath he thought he'd lost when Brendon didn't welcome him. "Jon Walker," Brendon says, nudging him with a toe. "You didn't mention a convergence in the Laundromat when you left."
"This morning I didn't know I had to do laundry," Jon replies with a smile and starts to load his machine, stuffing everything not white into it.
Brendon watches and tuts, nudging Jon's back. "Ever heard of sorting the clothes?"
Jon glances up, then down. Looks fine to him. "Warm, white clothes. Cold, everything else," he recites. Works fine for me."
Brendon shudders, leaning protectively over the clothes heap beside him consisting of blacks and red. "You must not have had laundry on your chore list as a kid."
"How did you ever guess?" Jon asks with a quirk of his mouth and turns on the machine. He glances towards the toilets. Putting his hands in dirty clothes always makes him want to wash his hands. But no, it's better if he takes the opportunity to talk with Brendon.
"I don't know, maybe the fact that your clothes will come out discolored?" Brendon suggests and leans back on his hands, feet kicking idly.
Jon shrugs and hops up next to Brendon. "It's mostly jeans anyway." He kicks off his flip-flops and pulls his legs up, turning to Brendon. "What are you writing?"
"Sheet music," Brendon replies, biting his lip and tilting the book towards Jon while watching him under lowered lashes. "Nothing in particular, just snatches that come to mind."
Jon hums the stanza on the side, liking the way the music tumbles over his lips. The way it dips only to crescendo and then turn itself in a circle and begin anew. "It's pretty good," Jon says, sliding a finger down the page, hesitating before turning it and reading the rest.
"Yeah?" Brendon ducks his head, smiling broadly. "I haven't showed it to anyone yet."
"Thanks for showing me," Jon says and nudges him in the shoulder as he hands the book back. It feels strange to be trusted with something like this, but also oh so good, because it means he might still be forgiven. But he still can't help but hesitate before taking the bull by the horns. "I'm sorry for avoiding you."
Brendon flinches and looks down. "Yeah, me too," he says, looking at the floor, and there's something aching in his voice that reminds Jon of Pete on the days the demons in his head grow stronger and can't quite be contained. "I thought we were friends."
"We are," Jon says, the words falling out of him as he tries to catch Brendon's eyes, feeling breathless with want to reassure. So many broken, so few words and so many times he hasn't quite been enough. But this time he wants to. Wants to in a way that he hasn't felt since the last month of 5o4. "Just... I have known TAI for a long time. It's hard to be pulled between that and you guys."
"I can imagine." Brendon's smile is bittersweet and he still doesn't look at Jon, but there's a change in there somewhere that makes Jon think he's doing all right. "I didn't have many friends before the band, you know. My family is Mormon - you might imagine what they thought about having me as a son."
Jon blinks, then clenches his hands at the sudden urge to hit something as the tallies in his mind suddenly combine into a whole. Alcohol for Ryan, religion for Brendon and two things Jon has yet to find for Spencer and Brent. "I'm sure they love you anyway," he says in a careful voice, remembering times when Brendon walked away from a conversation to take a call, the times he greeted someone with backstage passes in the larger cities.
"Oh, they do," Brendon replies with a little sigh that seems to slump the tension from his shoulders. "But it's hard. For a while there, we didn't speak and I don't think things have been the same since." He glances up at Jon through his lashes and the knot in Jon's chest eases as the smile on his lips is reflected in his eyes. "I'm not telling you this so you can pity me," Brendon adds, but he doesn't really seem to think Jon will, and he's damned right about that. "I just... I wanted you to know."
Jon nods, edging a bit closer until he can feel Brendon warm against his shoulder, needing that bit of closeness as much as Brendon seems to. "Must've been hard," Jon says and thinks back at everyone through the years, through the scenes. So many stories, so much hurt and yet Panic's stories are among the first to truly touch him. "I can't say I've ever been through something like that, but..." He looks at Brendon, willing him to believe. "I won't abandon you guys."
"Yeah, I'm getting that now," Brendon says with a smile and a nudge to Jon's shoulder, and just like that, he seems all right again. "Even though I seem to remember Tom having a lot to do with that little epiphany."
Jon shakes his head and doesn't bother to hold back a chuckle. "Best friends, I guess." He looks at Brendon - he seems in a much better mood now; his shoulder less tense and his smile less pasted on and more genuine. Which is good, as a sad Brendon is a pitiful Brendon. But in either case, he really has had enough heart-to-hearts for the morning. "Want to play checkers while we wait?" Jon asks.
Brendon grins, holds up his pen. "Tic-tac-toe?"
They end up idling all of the laundry circuit away goofing around. When tic-tac-toe becomes boring, they play around with the music Brendon wrote and when they tire of that, the laundry is finished, so they can head back just in time for practice. When Jon slings his bass around his neck and plays along with the songs he knows, it's with the usual energetic Brendon bouncing around and Jon can't help but fool around in return. Ryan catches his eye and nods half-way through and Jon grins at him, spinning around to play to Spencer for a while until he smiles as well. Only Brent remains tense, but they are going to talk and Jon has faith they will fix things. So for now, he simply plays.
index | part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | Art | Fanmix