Dichotomy.

“Whatever, Tom,” I roll my eyes at him.

“T, I don’t even know how you have friends besides me,” he continues to tease.

And the truth is, I’m not sure I do.

“I talked to Mia earlier,” he continues, when I don’t answer. “She says Eric’s been asking around about you.”

I freeze up for a few seconds.

“Did…she say how Rigby’s doing?” I ask, my throat turning dry with my trying to hide a reaction.

I’d asked Tom’s sister to watch him while I was gone.

He snorts.

“Your dog’s fucking fine. You don’t want to talk to him on the phone, do you?”

I scowl at him.

“Are you really over him?” he asks next, studying me.

The truth is…I’m not.

“Are you?” I counter, jerking my head pointedly at Spencer, who’s across the room. Tom glances to where Spence is talking to his drum tech. Tom’s already pale face is void of color when he turns back to me.

“Don’t you dare fucking-”

“I won’t tell anyone and you know it,” I argue crossly. He continues unpacking the merch boxes wordlessly, trying to make me feel guilty, and its working. “Sorry,” I say grudgingly. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me lately, I-”

“T. It’s fine,” he offers a forgiving smile I don’t deserve.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

I hit the last chord as Brendon sings the last words of the last song on the last show of tour.

-and then it’s over, and I don’t know what I’m going to do with myself when I get home, because realistically, who wants a bitch like me in their band?

We chat with some die-hard fans waiting outside the venue way after the show is over to pass the time, to drag out the good feeling the show’s given us, to drag out the last day of tour.

To my surprise, they want pictures with me as much as Spencer and Brendon.

I can’t help but genuinely smile even though I’m a little confused by the attention.

Brendon catches my eyes while a picture is being snapped of me and a fan.

Flash.

I’m smiling, and he’s staring, so it’s weird.

“Hey, T?” Spencer hesitates to ask, after the group clears out and we’re back in the front of the bus.

“What’s up?” I reply, a bit nervously, playing with a strand of my reddish-brown hair.

“Can we talk?”

I know what’s next.

The thanks-for-the-help-but-we-don’t-really-need-you-anymore-talk.

The truth is…I hadn’t expected to get attached – I hadn’t expected to want to still be a part of this.

But maybe I just miss touring that much. Just being a part of something this big.

“Me and Brendon were talking…” he begins. “We have another tour coming on in a month or so, and we’d love it if you stuck with us for it.”

“Oh…” I say, surprised.

Deliriously, happily, surprised.

“Really?” I ask.

“Is that a yes?” Spencer grins. I can’t read Brendon’s expression.

“Yes.”

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

I end up sitting next to him on the plane ride home.

His phone rings while people are still boarding and I glimpse the caller id that reads “Kellie” before he hits the “end” button and turns it off.

“What’s she like?” I ask automatically. He glances at me quickly in surprise before replying.

“She’s pretty,” he remarks, absently.

“Do you love her?”

He frowns, not answering for awhile, while I study him and wait, just out of pure curiosity.

“No. I don’t know. Maybe. How am I supposed to know, anyway? She’s there when I need her to be.”

I give a short bark of a humorless laugh, I can’t help myself.

“Wow. You really are an asshole, aren’t you?”

“Guess so,” he shrugs in response.

“I used to be like you, you know,” I blurt out suddenly. I don’t know why. He stares at me strangely.

“What?” he asks, slowly and quiet enough that it’s almost a whisper.

“You’re such a front man. Everyone’s always watching you, so you have to protect yourself. Right?”

He doesn’t reply.

“Keep acting like you don’t care. You’ll get sick of it after awhile.”

“Who’s acting?” he suddenly argues crossly. “You’re the one who’s pretending you don’t care. I know you do.”

“Oh?” I raise my eyebrows at him. He lowers his voice, leaning over to say it, too close for comfort.

“I saw you smile,” is all he says, barely above a whisper. “And I know you still care about whatever happened with your old band, even though you pretend it doesn’t matter.”

“Don’t you ever get the hint?” I snap, in hushed annoyance. “I’m not going to fucking tell you how I fucked up my band, so stop fucking bringing it up!”

“Three,” he states absently.

“What?” I spit back, confused.

“Three “fucks” in one sentence,” he clarifies innocently.

I don’t talk to him for the rest of the flight.