Casual Affair

Greg huffed at me all during sound check. Every time I rubbed my forehead or winced from the reverb he scoffed and shook his head. Louis and Matt just smirked and laughed at my expense. It wasn’t like my hang over was that bad; I just had a bit of a headache that could easily be cured by some ibuprofen and an hour of solitary vocal warm-up. Which we had time for, luckily.

“I can’t believe you’re hung over on the first fucking show of the tour,” Greg growled at me. “How does that make us look to the other bands, Grigs?”

I rolled my eyes and sang a few lines into the microphone until given the thumbs up from our sound crew. “Brendon’s the one that got me drunk anyway, so I’m pretty sure he doesn’t care,” I said.

Greg just sighed and plucked out a few notes on his guitar. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he warned.

“Lighten up, moose face,” I laughed. “Jesus, you’re in a fucking band. We’re supposed to get drunk and fucked every once in a while.”

He scrunched up his nose. “I haven’t gotten either of those in a while.”

I patted his shoulder sadly. “Well, I can only help with one of those. I’ll make sure we have some of your Heineken on the bus before we take off tonight.” I flicked his shoulder before hopping off the stage. “As far as the other thing, that’s all up to you, bro.”

Brendon smirked at me as I walked past; he and the Panic! boys were rounding themselves up for their own sound check. “Feeling all right there, Elizabeth?” he asked.

I shrugged at him, apparently the only response I ever found worth giving him, and stalked past. I could hear him sigh behind me and knew he was disappointed. The thought made me smirk. Being disappointed was just something he’d have to get used to on this tour—at least when it came to me.

Before shows, I needed a little bit of me time. If I didn’t get that, I felt off the entire set; sure, I still shimmied and shook with all I had in me, but there was a gruffness to my voice that would always be absent if I didn’t have a least a solid half hour of alone time before a show. The guys seemed to understand, and when I showed up for our other preshow rituals—including one involving gummy bears Greg and Louis had done for drama in high school—we all danced around the green room.

It was time to get fucking pumped.

The chants hit my ears before the adrenaline hit my blood stream—“Grigs-by, Grigs-by,” each syllable accentuated—and I followed the guys out onto the stage in my usual daze. I could feel that my eyes stung from the bright stage lights and that my ears nearly burst from the screams that erupted the minute my boots stepped away from backstage, but it was a dull pain. The adrenaline had become my morphine, and I was ignorant of all that my body was experiencing.

It was show time, and I lived for it. Being on stage was one of the only times I ever really felt alive, and I was addicted to it.

I smirked when I reached my microphone dead center in the stage. The crowd all screamed when my nails gripped the stand and I cocked my hip, accepting more cries of my name with a grin. “Hello, motherfuckers,” I giggled into the mic, and they all just about lost their fucking minds. “Oh, come on. Don’t fake it with me.” The screams got even louder.

I looked over my shoulder and nodded at the boys, and we all leapt into action—Louis started us off with a mean drum solo before Greg trilled in with his guitar, and I walked over to Matt as he prepared to start plucking his bass and ran my hand down his arm. It was what we did, what any successful act did—incorporate sex into your set, and you were sure to get the crowd wild.

The kids in the crowd were practically killing each other as they stampeded around the pit, swaying like one big drunk wave as we played hit after hit. I could see so many phones desperately being held in the air, no doubt snapping pictures and videos of me grinding my way around the stage and belting out my lyrics like my life depended on it.

I decided to give them a little something to talk about and sashayed over to Greg to sing into his ear with half lidded eyes. It was fun seeing how many shows I could give him a boner during. So far I had never failed. First show of the tour and I had already had success.

“You all ready for Panic! at the Disco?” I asked towards the end of our set. If I thought they had been loud for us, I had been dead wrong. I could practically feel the stage move back five feet just from the intensity of their combined voices. I chuckled into the mic and shook my head. “I don’t know, it doesn’t sound like it.”

I walked over to Louis’ drum set to grab my water bottle and take a deep sip. He leaned over the floor tom and winked at me. “Your ass always looks amazing from back here,” he giggled, which turned into a hearty guffaw when I moved to slap his arm.

“For all of those who didn’t know, Louis Hook is a pervert,” I announced, and Louis stood up and bowed to all his screaming fans. They didn’t seem to judge him for it; it only made him more loveable.

We played two more songs, holding off on our new single until we had fine-tuned it more, and ran off the stage despite the crowd’s groans and pleas for encores. I could feel the sweat dipping all over my body and knew I probably looked a hot mess, but it felt so delicious that I didn’t even care.

“Nice, guys,” Zack Hall, Panic!’s body guard slash tour manager said once we’d made it backstage. Their roadies were already bumping into ours as they quickly moved to clear the stage for Brendon and the boys. I raised my arm to avoid being impaled by one running by with one of Matt’s basses.

“Thanks man,” Louis nodded, and the two exchanged a fist bump. I wasn’t sure when handshakes had gone out of style, but its replacement just seemed silly to me. Maybe that was because I always punched way too hard and now no one would do it with me.

“You gonna stay and watch their set?” Greg asked me once we were out of the way. The stage hands had lowered the curtain that had been behind our set up to reveal the screens that would be part of Panic!’s act, and the crowd was once again rolling closer to the barricade; I could hear the screams of those who were being squished and dragged close to hyperventilation.

“Hold on,” I said, and ignoring the questioning looks of all the roadies, I walked back onto the stage. The crowd seemed surprised to see me and all cheered in surprise, but my eyes honed in on one corner where I could see some younger fans’ hands in the air as they struggled to remain upright. I held up a hand when I reached my mic, and I could feel the room quiet as my glare honed in.

“Listen, I’m glad you’re all enjoying yourselves,” I said, to a few half-hearted hoots. “But you’re going to all suffocate if you don’t calm the fuck down and stop pushing into each other like you are. Everyone, take, like, five steps back and fucking stay there. I can hear you guys dying from backstage.”

There were cheers from those in agreement, and the wave of people moved back from the barricade; the fans lucky enough to have snagged that front spot all breathed in relief, rubbing their ribs with grateful sighs. I flashed a quick peace sign and sidled past the roadies off the stage.

Greg nodded at me with a grin. “I knew there was a reason I put up with you,” he chuckled. “You do actually care about the fans.”

“Yeah, I’m not always a total asshole.” I rolled my eyes and glanced back at the stage. Greg patted my shoulder and then took off for the green room to shower.

“Look at you, caring and shit.” Chills ran down my spine at his voice, and I turned to flash Brendon the best glare I could manage. He smirked and straightened out his jacket. It was stylish, I’d give him that much. If you’re into bright shiny things.

“I’m a very caring person,” I said, and I couldn’t help but smile at the dry tone that rolled off my lips. “Even if that sounds totally sarcastic.”

Dallon laughed and ruffled my hair, politely avoiding making a face when he felt how sweaty it was. “Well, to arms!” he declared, making Kenny laugh. They traipsed out to the darkened stage, followed by their drummer, whose name I hadn’t caught yet, but I knew he was replacing their main drummer Spencer for the tour. I looked at Brendon, wondering why he wasn’t following them, and he smiled.

“Will you watch?” he asked. His voice sounded so vulnerable, like it would break his heart if I didn’t stay. Why did it matter?

I shrugged and his eyes tightened, already knowing my answer. “Not tonight,” I said, surprised by how softly my voice came out. He frowned but let it slip back into his normal smile, and I wondered how often he used that smile as something to hide behind.

He nodded and flicked my nose. “All right, well, duty calls!” He pivoted before I could say anything else, and the screams from the crowd nearly shook the arena. I lingered for a moment, and watched him glide up to his microphone.

Before they could start playing, I ran away. I don’t really know why. I just didn’t want to hear him sing.

--

Touring was amazing. Each venue held some new surprise, whether it was lines that started forming six hours before show time or panties being thrown up on the stage directed at me. The guys were having the time of their lives—goofing around in all our tour cities by day, performing kick ass shows in the evening, and partying well into the night. The grief they gave me for being hung over the first show was quickly forgotten when they all had similar experiences the further east we traveled.

It was an interesting experience touring with another band that actually seemed interested on forming friendships with us. We’ve toured with some pretty big names before, and they’d been cordial enough, but they never sought us out in our dressing rooms after the shows. They never showed up on the bus and tickled me awake like Dallon did when he wanted someone to watch movies with, or tried unsuccessfully to pull pranks on us like poor Kenny did on a regular basis. They also never challenged me to a flip-off like Brendon did.

“A flip-off?” I asked. We had just pulled into Kansas City that morning and didn’t have to play until that night. Our bands were taking up a few tables at a local iHop, various breakfast foods scattered around us. “What does that even mean?”

Brendon huffed from his place across from me, stabbing his fork into the fluffy French toast on his plate. “Maybe if you watched our set every once in a while you’d know that I do back flips during some songs.” He shoved his fork into his mouth, and I swear he purposefully chomped on the bread so that it would scatter all over the table and out of his mouth. “Let’s see who can flip cooler.”

“Dude, I promise you she will flip harder than you,” Louis laughed. “She flips out on us all the time.”

“She’s always super nice to me!” Teal chimed in from the next table. We all glanced at her before turning back to focus on our little booth. Matt and Greg didn’t seem happy to be exiled with her, but it wasn’t my fault that one was fucking her and the other was always Mister Nice Guy.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” I asked Brendon. My coffee was pretty bland, and had gone cold ten minutes ago, but I swirled my spoon around it all the same. Anything to look disinterested when I was in actuality quite intrigued.

He grinned at me and nodded. “Why, you scared? I’ll take it easy on ya.”

Dallon shook his head and poured some more syrup on his plate. “You’ll do anything for a little competition,” he sighed. “I suppose you’ll want Zack to make a video of it, too.”

Brendon’s eyes widened and he slapped the table. “Oh my God, dude, you totally should,” he said to Zack. I noticed Dallon smirk and realized he was only feigning disinterest, too—he lived for these shenanigans just as much as the rest of us did.

I sighed, drawing it out to sound like some mix between exasperation and exhaustion, and flicked my hair back in the way I knew bothered Brendon most—he always gulped when the locks fell over my shoulder, and it made me pleased with myself for some sick reason. “Well, a challenge has been issued, so I guess I must accept.” I offered him my hand with a smirk. “Game on, my friend.”

He grinned and slipped his hand into mine, gripping it tightly as he gave it a firm shake. “May the best man win,” he said softly, and I couldn’t help but feel like he was implying something else, but I couldn’t guess what. When he tugged his hand away his fingers lingered against my wrist, brushing against the branch of veins.

Louis snorted next to me, snapping me out of my trance and encouraging me to snatch my hand away. “Dude, I hope you realize you’re going to lose,” he said to Brendon, who had let his hand fall against the table like he hadn’t just caressed my wrist.

Brendon scoffed. “Please.”

Louis shook his head and wagged a finger around, flinging syrup around. “You call yourself Grigsby’s biggest fan and yet you know so little about her!” He looked around at the others for confirmation that they were on the same wavelength as him, but everyone just stared at him, expressions blanker than a fresh checkbook. I sat back in the booth with a grin, watching Brendon’s face when his eyebrows furrowed.

“Whatchu on about, Louis?” Dallon asked.

Louis laughed and wrapped his arm around my shoulders, giving me a little shake. “Dear Elizabeth here used to do gymnastics, dipshits,” he giggled. “She kicked ass at all the meets. You are done for, Urie.”

Brendon’s eyes snapped to mine, and I noticed his pupils were tight in his irises when they locked onto mine. His lips curved up into a smile—caught somewhere between pain and what seemed to be genuine fear—and he rested his palm against his cheek with a grimace. “Yeah, probably,” he said, and the way he was looking at me made me feel like he didn’t just mean the flip-off.

--

Greg designated himself the official flip-off referee. He and Dallon tracked down some gymnastics practice space and convinced the owners to let us mess around in it for a few hours. It all looked exactly like the space I practiced in during college—uneven parallel bars, vault, balance beam, the beautiful bouncy floor for floor routines. I hadn’t actually done any kind of routine in years, but it felt good feeling those mats beneath my feet again.

“So does this mean you used to wear all those spandex things? Tight leotards and glitter galore?” Brendon wiggled his eyebrows at me, and I knew he was purposefully doing things to get me to look at him. It hadn’t gone unnoticed by him how much I’d tried to ignore him, and he apparently wasn’t keen on being ignored. Apparently he didn’t understand how awkward it was to know that a tour-mate wanted to fuck your brains out and his wife had in theory said it was okay.

“Forgive me if I opt for shorts and a tank top this time around instead, Brendon,” I sighed, hating the smile that stretched across my cheeks just by looking at him.

The other guys all walked ahead of us and Brendon grinned at me, giving my ass a light smack. He laughed at my glare and shrugged. “Good game, Grigsby,” he said with a wink. He ran ahead to avoid my hand as I tried to smack him.

Fuck my cheeks for blushing.

“All right, kiddos!” Greg called out once he reached the balance beam. He tried climbing up on top of it, but the asshole nearly toppled off and broke his neck. In an effort to save face he decided to straddle the thing instead, ignoring my giggles with only a middle finger showing any signs of acknowledgment.

“The rules are as follows,” he said, pointing towards me and Brendon with his eyebrows raised. He looked like a bad 80s music video waiting to happen; I kind of really wanted him to start whipping his hair around and have cowboy boots on for some reason. Maybe with some Michael Jackson playing in the background. Judging by the look Greg was flashing me I had spaced out during his schpeal and he was not pleased with me.

“You got that, Grigsby?” he asked.

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” I said, switching my gaze over to the floor. “Can we just flip now?”

Zack laughed and turned on his camera. “The lady commands it!”

“Watch and learn, my fair lady,” Brendon winked. Fucking cheeks fucking blushing again. What the fuck, body? Stop betraying me!

Brendon bounced over to the floor and turned to face Zack and his camera. “Hello every one, my name’s Brendon and I’m from Panic! at the Disco.” He waved at me, signaling I should come over, and, aware that whatever went on this tape would be viewed by my fans, I hopped over with a smile. Not to imply that I wasn’t having fun otherwise, but, you know—appearance is everything.

Brendon wrapped an arm around my shoulder and grinned at the camera. “To my left here is Miss Eliza Doolittle from Spilled Decanters. We’re about to have a little friendly competition here. A flip-off!”

I giggled—what? I giggled?—and nodded along with him. “And I’ve already been told that it’s not my usual flip off by dear Gregory, so…I’ll behave,” I smiled. It had probably been long enough for Brendon to take his hand off of me, and I probably should have shrugged him off by now, but…fuck it.

“Now Eliza dear,” Brendon said, shifting a little to face me better. His smile widened when he felt me jerk—it was either Elizabeth or Grigsby, and he damn well knew that. “Are you ready to do this thang?”

He sounded so ridiculous, like he was mixing proper British accents with some attempt at being gansta, and I wondered if it was part of his plan—disorient me with hilarious and adorable voices so I’d be caught off my guard and lose. Well, tough cookies, Urie. I could not be so easily distracted.

“Sure thang, Brandon,” I smiled, shrugging out of his grip and ignoring the way his nostrils flared. “Go put on your leotard and let’s go.”

It might have been years since I had participated in gymnastics, but there’s something to be said for the whole muscle memory thing. After some amazing stretching, I felt like no time at all had passed. I was doing all the old flips—aerials, layouts, full twists, double tucks, even a pike here and there. The guys all looked mesmerized as I swished this way and that, using hands, no hands, straight form, tucking my body.

Finally it was time for Brendon to perform. He did his usual backflip, and that was it—and the guys all over exaggerated their applause. “A winner!” Greg cheered, heartily clapping his hands.

I was still panting from my various routines, keeled over as I caught my breath. I was about to scream out various obscenities, but then I caught Brendon’s eye. That’s when I realized everyone knew I was obviously the winner, but this was for the fans. We had to be funny.

Something told me this wasn’t the first video we’d make for them, either. I could already see the gears in Brendon’s head shifting, brainstorming more ideas.

Zack hooted and turned off the camera. “Beautiful. I’m gonna go edit this and have something up by the show tonight.” He scrunched up his nose. “Elizabeth, you might want to shower before your set.”

“Oh, fuck off, all of you,” I laughed as the other guys backed away and pinched their noses.

“Fuck, Grigs, even I don’t want to hug you right now,” Louis said. “But damn girl, that was hot watching you twist and turn like that.” They all enjoyed poking a bit more fun at me while simultaneously implying they were all turned on by it before finally deciding they had tortured me enough, leaving to head back towards the venue for other shenanigans.

“You coming, Grigs?” Louis asked.

I looked back towards the balance beam and shook my head. “Nah, I kinda want to linger here a little longer. We’ve got time, yeah?”

“Sure. Call me and I’ll get someone to come pick you up when you’re done.”

One thing they never tell you about with touring is how little alone time you get. I love my guys, I love my music, I love my fans, but I love the few moments I get to myself, too. It’s difficult being the only one with a vagina on a tour bus, and sometimes it’s nice to take a step back and distance yourself from the fart jokes and dick comparisons.

I had always sucked at the beam routines, so for gymnastic meets they never really volunteered me to participate for scoring. I was always the uneven bars and floor participant, which I didn’t really mind, but something about the beam always scared me. I hopped up on it, straddling it like Greg had earlier before stretching out and laying down on my stomach, letting my legs dangle down and my arms wrap around the beam to hold me steady.

“Didn’t feel like going back either?”

We’d only been on tour for four days and already I could recognize his voice. I turned my head, unsurprised to see Brendon’s face so close to mine, and tried shrugging. Not so easy to do when you’re sprawled out along a beam with very little sense of balance—I ended up nearly tumbling off the edge, and would have fallen off completely.

But Brendon caught me.

“Shit, sorry,” I mumbled, looking down at the mats. I expected him to drop me to my feet the minute we were steadied, but he didn’t. Instead, he adjusted me until he held me bridal style, smiling down at me with the smile I hadn’t quite figured out yet.

“It’s cool,” he chuckled, and he helped me sit back up on the beam. “Chicks fall for me all the time.” He rested his hands on either side of me, acting like he was trying to make sure I wasn’t going to fall again, but I knew better.

“I doubt you’re there that often to catch them, though,” I joked. We were two writers, bantering on a balance beam—I knew he’d pick up on my double meaning. Sure, people fell in love with him all the time, but only one girl had been lucky enough to make him topple, too.

He shrugged. “I can’t be everywhere at once,” he said. “Plus I usually accidentally drop them. My grip is terrible.”

“For some reason I don’t doubt that.” His fingers were subtly shifting closer to me, dragging along the beam until they were almost touching the fabric of my shorts. “Well, anyway, good job earlier. That flip sure beat me.”

“Please, we both know you out-flipped me, hands down.”

“I actually didn’t use my hands for half of them.”

“That’s what she said?” He tilted his head, and his voice lifted as his chin angled up. I bit back a laugh before nodding. “Look, I’m sorry I want to fuck you.”

So casual, like he had actually said, “Look, I’m sorry you lost.” Or, “Look, I’m sorry my suits are all so blindingly beautiful.” I nearly gagged on the air when I gasped and had to cover my mouth in an effort not to cough in his face.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” I asked.

“But it’s not like I’m actually going to act on it,” he said, continuing as if I had never spoken. “You should be flattered, really, that you’re so…so…”

I cut off his pondering, holding up a finger to his lips without really thinking it through. “As flattering as it is knowing that you at one point told your wife you want to fuck me, you cannot imagine how uncomfortable it is to be reminded of that fact.”

He groaned and pulled my wrist away, holding it tight in his fist. “I’m sorry! It’s just, when I found out you guys said yes to touring with us I got really excited ‘cause I really do love your band, and it’s bumming me out that you aren’t comfortable around me enough to joke around like you do with everyone else.”

“You realize that these little moments you steal with me addressing the awkwardness of the situation only make things more awkward, yes?” I squirmed and glared down at his fingers, the fingers that weren’t quite touching me yet and which I almost wished were. “I think I’m ready to go now.”

I tried pushing on his arms in an effort to free myself, but he held firm. “Knock knock,” he said.

Seriously? “Excuse me?” I asked.

He sighed and looked at me, imploring me to go along with it. “Knock knock,” he repeated.

I groaned and rolled my eyes, gripping onto his forearms to stop myself from falling off again. “Who’s there?”

“To.”

“To who?”

“Ah ah ah,” he scolded, and he held a finger up to my lips. “To whom,” he corrected.

My laugh bursted past my lips before I could stop it, and then it was too late. I was overcome with laughter, because it was such a ridiculous joke, and yet grammatically fantastic, and yet I had no idea why he chose to tell it but thank God because the tension between us felt finally broken and then I started wobbling and—fuck.

I toppled off the beam again, and I gripped at Brendon’s forearms in the hope that it would save me from falling on my face, and just like the first time, he caught me. But this time when he caught me our bodies fell flush against each other, chest to chest, hip to hip, and my fingers jumped up to his shoulders as our knees buckled against each other.

His eyes were a lot bigger that close up, all wide and brown and dilated. He didn’t seem to know how to react to having my body against his, and I sure as fuck didn’t know what to do with his body against mine, and so we both just stood there, wide eyed and dumb fucked.

Finally, I cleared my throat. “What do you get when you mix an elephant and a rhinoceros?” I asked. My throat decided to screw me over, making my voice come out all hoarse and weak and probably turned on.

Brendon’s lips twitched and he lowered me onto my feet, hands still digging into my hips. “I don’t know, what?”

I shrugged, offering him a weak smile. “Elefino.”

He stared at me for a moment, working through the thought process of understanding the joke before busting out in laughter. “That was good,” he said.

His fingers felt so weird against my hips, so bizarre, so…intriguing. Sure, the jokes were both good, but this—whatever this was—was bad. Definitely bad.