Pictures on Silence

"Grazie e buona notte!" I called into the microphone with a flourishing bow. Following the guys off stage, I grinned profusely and hopped around with my bass; performing was a sure-fire energy high every time. I popped open a bottle of water and gulped down the whole thing before collapsing into a chair in our dressing room.

Jesse wiped his forehead and stuck his tongue out. "Gross." I smirked and flicked the remnants of my drink at him. He smiled and perched himself on my lap. "I knew there was a reason I liked you."

Rolling my eyes, I noticed that Matt had already turned on his camera and was rolling. I shot him a mock-glare and pushed Jesse off me; he lazily rolled to the floor. "Matt, can't the documentary wait until after we've cooled off?" Sean asked, pushing the hair back from his forehead.

Matt swivelled the camera to him. "No way, Butch Cassidy. This is life on the road, man."

I picked up an armful of clean clothes and started for the bathroom. "Your idea of life on the road consists of us fucking around like Knoxville and Margera and trying to get shots of me changing," I quipped dryly as I shut and locked the door.

Once deodorised and garbed in clean attire, I rejoined my comrades, all of whom were lazing around on the floor and couch. I put my hands on my hips and surveyed them, shaking my head. "You are so lucky that I already booked a hotel."

We'd already played two weeks worth of shows and somehow I hadn't gotten sick of it yet. The shows, that is; not the being on the road. I had never realised how much I loved California until I was hundreds of miles away with no ocean to be seen or heard. The sky was pretty outside of the cities, though; I spaced out a lot when I drove at night, entranced by the multitudes of twinkling lights above me. The guys had to smack me out of it more than I'd like to admit.

Stick me a spacesuit and call me Major Romantic.

I yawned as I stumbled through the door of our ludicrously tiny room at the hovel of a hotel. Sean was on bus-guard tonight, and that left Matt, Jesse, and I to fight over sleeping alone, because both of them were not too gentleman to let me try an actual night's sleep. If not for the random hours I passed out during the day, I'd be an insomniac. I hadn't slept well at all since coming back from our first tour.

My phone vibrated in my pocket as my stomach lurched painfully. Speak of the devil, I thought in irritation. Collapsing one bed, I pulled out the phone. "Hello?" I yawned.

"How was your show, Sleepy?" Jon asked. "Or are you tired for other reasons?" I could hear the mischievous grin in his voice, and I couldn't help but smile.

"Yeah... in the middle of our set, a fifteen year-old threw herself onstage and started making out with Sean. Well, Jesse and Matt got jealous, so they made out with each other, and pretty soon the whole room was just a huge orgy. You wish you'd been there."

Jon didn't say anything for a minute. "You know, if I didn't know you were making that up, I would have totally believed you."

"Who said I was joking?" He laughed. With a whine at the tearing feeling in my abdomen, I snuggled deeper into the pillow and kicked off my shoes. "How's... where the fuck are you again?"

Jon laughed. "I don't even know anymore. Brendon probably does. Wanna talk to him?" Without waiting for an answer, he passed the phone off to Bren, who after figuring out that I was about to conk out from exhaustion went on a tangent about the importance of sleep to teenagers. I think I blacked out, because the next thing I knew, Ryan was on the other end.

"Hey, Ry," I garbled, rubbing an eye.

"You already said that," he informed me, confused. After a second, Ryan laughed. "You've been talking to us in your sleep again, haven't you?" I muttered imperceptibly. "No wonder Spence didn't know why the fuck you were explicating the glory of Honey Nut Cheerios."

I laughed sleepily. "You know Cheerios kick Raisin Bran's ass eight ways to Sunday." We continued talking as I got undressed for bed and once again collapsed on the mattress. The bathroom door opened, letting out an avalanche of steam. "Shit, Sundance, put on some fucking pants." Matt wiggled his eyebrows at me, pretending to drop his towel and catching it at the last second. I covered my eyes and groaned again.

Ryan laughed. "Get some sleep, Ange."

"Not after that, I'm not," I grumbled, brushing some hair out of my face. He laughed again and we hung up. Matt re-entered the room, this time wearing boxers. "That isn't much better. Wear clothes like a normal person."

"Pen, it's ninety-two degrees. You need to loosen up," Matt advised, sitting on the end of the bed. "Especially since we're sharing tonight."

"Maybe I'll go tell Sean he can sleep in here; I probably won't sleep much anyway," I grumbled sourly and attempted to sit up. Only my stomach gave another lurch and I fell back to the mattress.

Matt hopped down next to me. "Are you feeling okay?" I nodded unconvincingly, but Matt only nodded and put out the light. "You're sleeping, even if I have to sing to you."

"God, don't let it come to that," I muttered. Matt settled in next to me and began running his fingertips across my forehead, humming. Soon I felt my eyelids start to droop. "You cheating bastard," I mumbled. The last thing I remember was him smirking. When I woke up the next day, I lay across the back seat with my head on Sean's leg. I sat up and cracked all my joints loudly, making all the guys complain. Sissies.

~Sean~
I muttered to Jesse during 'Your New Favourite Song' that Angie didn't look well. That was a bloody understatement; she looked like Death slightly warmed over. That smile I recognised as the one she painted on to pretend everything was dandy. We exchanged glances and watched her for the rest of the show. Matt obviously caught on by the way he kept on eye on her as well. I was so caught up that I barely caught the foursome of recognisable faces in the stage-right corner.

Angie beamed at the crowd, blowing kisses as they cheered. We exited the stage and when I turned around to ask if she felt as bad as she looked, Angie was face-down on the ground, hair splayed out everywhere.

Chaos. Everything sixes and sevens. Crew and stagehands running everywhere, caught between doing their jobs and figuring out why the fuck the lead singer had just collapsed the minute she got offstage. Trust Angie to put work before her personal health.

Matt and Jesse carried her limp body to our dressing room as I shouted orders for water. Laying her on the couch, the three of us yelled frantically at each other.

"What the fuck's wrong with her? Do something! Is she breathing?!"

"How the hell should I know?! I just turned around she was on the bloody floor!"

"Calm the fuck down! This isn't helping!"

I edged back in surprise. Matt was being serious? Shite, this was worse than I thought. Matt snatched a small bottle from his bag and wafted it under Angie's nose. After a second, a cough wracked her chest and she sat up, wheezing. A stagehand forced an inhaler to her lips.

Kneeling, I handed Angie a bottle of water and helped her drink it. "How you feel?"

"Like I could vomit," she croaked. Turning to Matt, she demanded, "What the fuck was in that?"

Matt looked sheepish. "Cologne. Hey, it works for consumption..." Angie laughed weakly, but it turned into a hacking cough. Matt became serious. "You haven't been eating." She looked up at him with doe-eyes. "That's why this happened!" he said loudly, making Angie shy away. "You always overwork yourself like this! You never know when to take a break! Jesus, Angie, why do you always put other people before yourself? Why can't you be selfish for once?"

"Matt," Jesse interposed quietly. He nodded at our female friend, who wore a teary expression of terror I've only seen in movies. Matt and I both quickly lunged and put our arms around her. Angie's shoulders jerked twice.

"Please don't yell at me," she whispered desperately, eyes shut tight. I stroked her hair, throwing Matt a deadly glare, though he was too engrossed in apologising to notice.

Once everything settled down a bit and we got Angie a little food, the door opened and a real smile spread across Angie's face for the first time that afternoon. Panic! At The Disco, all grinning, quickly made their way over to the couch; Angie jumped up, making the blood rush to her head and legs give out, causing Matt, Spencer, Jesse, Ryan, and I to catch her.

"Seems like we missed something," Brendon said, watching Jesse force more food into her mouth. Angie rolled her eyes due to the half sandwich stuffed in her mouth. I explained to the guys what happened and they instantly asked a million questions about her well-being. Angie, smiling weakly, waved them all away, saying she was fine now and just needed some food.

"Good thing we're here. That's pretty much what we're here for," Spencer said, helping her up from the couch. "Well, pretty much anything and hanging out with you."

Angie smirked and patted his cheek. "Sweet Spencerface. Always thinking with your stomach."

~Angie~

We drove to the nearest place with edible food and relatively empty tables. Stupid guys, being all famous. I couldn't stop laughing and smiling, even when ketchup got on my favourite jacket; I just smeared ranch sauce on Jon's face. Noticing it for the first time in an hour and a half, I pulled at the white scarf around Ryan's neck. "Have I mentioned that this looks fantastic on you?" He smiled and sipped his coke shyly.

I'd only known these guys for six weeks, but being apart from them for so long made me realise how much I missed them, like someone had stabbed a pen through the binder paper of my life. I felt as close to Bren, Spence, Jon, and Ryan as I was with Sean, Matt, and Jesse, which is something I never thought could happen with anyone. This was why I was so disappointed when they told me they were leaving for tour again the next day; they'd scoured the web for our nearest show and bought tickets at the last second.

Drunk on adrenaline, I gave everyone hugs (SDK, Butch Cassidy, and Trill got kind of confused) and danced around as they said goodbye to each other. Having wandered about fifteen feet from the group, I spun around in circles until a pair of hands covered my eyes. "Guess who."

I placed my hands over his. "The boy who traded a scarf for an indie icon," I answered happily. Ryan pushed out his lower lip when I turned around, laughing; he grinned and put said scarf around my neck. Jesse called me, saying we had to get back to the hotel. In a gleeful stupor, I raised myself to my toes and planted a kiss on Ryan's cheek before skipping off after the band.

Life was better than pumpkin ice cream sprinkled with coconut. Even with that whole, you know, passing out from lack of food... thing.