The Only Exception

Sweat covered every inch of Alex's body, creating an adhesive between his skin and clothes. He could still remember the first live show that they had played on a stage. At the time, he hadn't been aware that shins and ears could sweat. But after every show, he was reminded that anything could indeed sweat.

"Good show," Matt noted as he clapped a hand on Alex's shoulder.

He drank the praise in and peeled his shirt off. "Does that mean there is an equally good after party in store?" Alex asked with a grin.

Matt rolled his eyes. "There'd be a good after party if you guys sounded like a middle school choir concert," he pointed out.

He was right. If there was one thing that could be said for All Time Low's tours, it was that they were always a good time. From the fans who came out to hear the actual show to the crew who helped make it happen every night, Alex and his bandmates made sure that it was an adventure for all. And a fun one, at that.

"I'm going to go find Jack," he decided as he pulled his in-ears out and handed them to Matt. "Wrap this all up, won't you?" he added as he gestured to the guitars that were still lying around, "Come on, Matt, tours don't manage themselves."

He headed to their dressing rooms. The rest of the band had already stripped themselves of their shirts (pants as well, in Jack's case) and were laying on the plush, leather couches. Alex considered joining them but decided on a shower when he noticed the scent of mingled sweat heavy on the air. "What's going on tonight?" he asked.

"Let's get wasted," Jack decided, still staring at the ceiling of the dressing room.

Zack and Rian nodded their agreement, and Alex shrugged. "Sounds good to me." He picked up a bag that held a new change of clothes and some soap and locked the bathroom door behind him.

Once the shower was steaming up the bathroom mirror, he pulled off his shoes and sat on the lid of the toilet for a minute, his mind full and his body tired. He stood to slip out of his jeans and into the comforting water when he was distracted by the sound of his iPhone. He pulled it from the bag sitting on the bathroom phone.

Sunday.

All he could do was stare at the six letters illuminating the screen of his phone. It was less painful to look at her name rather than the happy, smiling picture of her face that dominated the larger portion of the screen. The picture was one of the several that she had taken at Zack's costume party, and even without the picture, Alex could remember just how beautiful she had been that night. He hadn't heard from her in at least a month, maybe more, he realized.

He considered answering the phone but was, admittedly, a little relieved when the call was sent to voicemail. Showering was a forgotten task, and he stared at the phone, waiting for a voicemail to appear.

A loud knock sounded on the bathroom door. "Hurry up," Jack ordered. "This room is starting to smell like death."

"Fuck off," Alex called back. But nonetheless, he stood, dropped his phone back into the bag and stepped in the shower.

As the hot water assaulted the sticky sweat on his skin, he felt his mind wandering. He wondered how she was doing, if she missed him, if she still looked the same. He thought about her more than he liked to admit, more than he probably should have. But he couldn't help it. Despite all that had happened to their relationship, all the fucking up he had done, he still loved her. It pissed him off that it really had taken losing her to realize that.

When he finally couldn't justify standing under the hot water any longer and exited the small shower, his eyes felt drawn to the screen of his phone, and he wondered if she had left a voicemail. Usually, she did leave voicemails. Or, Alex realized bitterly, he supposed she used to leave voicemails. He wondered if a few minutes of her giggling and rambling awaited him.

"Alex?"

He jumped at the sound of Charlie's voice, feeling as though he was doing something that he shouldn't have been. He supposed that it was wrong for him to be as eager as he was at the prospect of a voicemail from Sunday, especially with his current girlfriend looming on the other side of the bathroom door.

"I'll be right out," he replied tersely. "Pull yourself together," he grumbled to himself as he dropped his towel over his hair. He rubbed the towel over his hair a few times, trying to expel Sunday from his mind with every shake.

It didn't work very well.

When he left the steamy bathroom with his still wet hair and heavy mind, Jack raced by, narrowly reaching the bathroom and slamming the door before Rian could reach it. Charlie laughed at the boys' antics before she draped her arms around Alex's neck. "You look tired," she noted in the purr that she usually reserved for suggesting it was time for her and Alex to spend some alone time together.

"Nah," he countered. "Just thirsty. Flyzik!" he called, using the excuse as an escape from Charlie. He found Matt outside in the chilly night, monitoring progress as the remainder of the equipment was packed onto the bus. "Yo, we got any alcohol?" Alex asked, feeling oddly scatterbrained.

Matt sent him a quizzical gaze. "Yeah, Alex, let me just pull it out of my coat pocket. Would you like me to take the cap off for you too, princess?" When Alex didn't respond to his sarcasm, Matt added, "It's on the bus, like always. Are you feeling okay?"

"Just... thinking," Alex offered vaguely.

"Don't," Matt instructed. "It makes me worry."

He tried to think of something witty and insulting to say in return to his tour manager's teasing, but he couldn't. Instead, he tossed him what he thought was an appropriately amused smile and then retreated to the bus.

It was empty, and Alex grabbed a bottle of beer before he slipped into his bunk and pulled his phone out of his back pocket. After consuming a substantial amount of his drink, he pressed the voicemail button and waited.

It felt like an eternity passed from the moment that the automated voicemail informed him that he had a message to the time that Sunday spoke. When her voice finally poured from the phone, she sounded exactly as Alex remembered, and it was obvious to him that she had been crying. She had her brave face on, though, and it seemed that she desperately wanted to fool Alex into thinking that she was fine.

"Hi," she began slowly, hesitantly, obviously not sure of what she was doing. "I know that my calling might be kind of weird, but... I heard a new song off the record, and I just had to tell you how proud I am of you, Alex. You're a really wonderful musician, and you change people's lives with your music." She sounded so strong, and Alex found his eyes filling with hot tears. Her voice faltered at the start of her next sentence, and he could imagine her brave facade cracking. "Have a great time on tour."

Then there was silence. He stared at the ceiling of his bunk as her words sunk into his head. She was proud of him? After everything that he had done to her, after how many times he had hurt her, she was proud of him? He suddenly felt sick, and in order to alleviate some of the guilt that was building in his chest, he angrily sent his empty beer bottle hurdling out of the bunk.

It hit something, perhaps the wall, and he heard the satisfying sound of breaking glass. "Alex?" a tentative voice asked.

Charlie again.

She pushed the curtain of the bunk aside and put a hand to his face. "Are you okay?" she asked softly.

He hated her in that moment. But more so, he hated himself. God, he hated both of them. They were sick, twisted, selfish people. They really did deserve each other, he realized. He put a hand on the back of her neck and pulled her lips to his. It was an angry, forceful kiss, which was only fitting, he decided. It was all that she deserved, and God knew he didn't deserve to enjoy his relationship with her.

But Charlie didn't see it for what it was. Glad to finally be the object of Alex's attention, she scrambled into the tiny bunk, eagerly pulling at his belt. To her credit, she tried to make things fun and enjoyable. She teased him, she moaned his name in a voice that would have driven any regular guy crazy, and she ultimately let him have his way.

But he couldn't help but be annoyed by her. Why hadn't she thought to take her clothes off outside of the bunk so that there wasn't any awkward pulling at sleeves and pants? Why did she giggle when the rest of the band and crew boarded the bus? What were they, high school kids hooking up in the basement? And why, why, why did she insist on telling him that she loved him right at the moment that he was finally enjoying himself and thinking that their whole exchange was actually worth it?

Later, as his naked girlfriend snuggled into his side and fell asleep, Alex returned his attention to his phone. He put the device to his ear and listened to her message again. He wondered what she was doing at that moment. Was she studying, drawing, petting Pepe? Was she maybe thinking about him too?

He stared at the phone for a long time. He knew that he could call her back, but he wasn't sure what he expected to come of that. In his troubled mind, he went through several different scenarios. She could be elated to hear from him, and they could just talk. He liked that hypothetical situation the best. He wanted to so badly to just talk to her again. But she could tell him that nothing had changed, that they couldn't just go back. She could even simply not answer.

Finally, he dropped the phone. He didn't let it land safely on his stomach or bunk, but instead, he dropped it onto the floor of the bus, praying that the fucking thing had shattered. It wouldn't be the only thing that had broken lately.