Expectations.

“This is so going on twitter,” Beau says as he takes a picture of the two cuddled up together on the pallet of blankets laying the van floor.

“Elliott, I hate to wake you up from your love fest but it’s time to eat, man.”

“Go away,” Elliott mumbles, wrapping his arms tighter around Presley.

Bren chuckles, “Leave the two alone. They’ll be the ones saying they’re hungry later.” The two bands, sans two members, go eat a late breakfast. Said two members spend the next hour asleep in each others arms. But just friends’, right?

That’s the thought that is currently doing laps around Presley’s brain when she wakes cuddled up to Elliott.

Her phone dings repeatedly and she groans, running a hand through her messy hair. Her hands shake as she unlocks the phone and she realizes that a couple bites of those pancakes, a salad, and three diet cokes were all she’s eaten in the last three days. Shrugging the thought off, she unlocks her phone to find several twitter notifications.

The first was one Beau had tweeted. @Beauknows: @ElliottBTF and @laspresley getting cozy. looks like elliott isn’t forever alone for once!

Presley rolls her eyes. She could already see the hate she was gonna get for that one.

Next were two replies on the picture that made her jaw drop.

@BenAfuckingA: @ElliottBTF keep your hands off, mate. I saw her first ;) To which Elliott had replied @ElliottBTF: @BenAfuckingA finders keepers, ‘mate’. :)

“What the hell?” She exclaims, bumping her head on van ceiling as she attempts to stand up.
Rubbing her now throbbing head, Presley makes her way out of the van and into the Waffle House they were parked in front of.

“What is up with Ben Bruce and Elliott?” Her question makes the two tables full of band members look up with bemused expressions.

“Well,” Matt starts as he moves over so she can sit in their booth, “Ben and Elliott have never liked each other. They kind of got into it when they were drunk one night and they both said some pretty shitty stuff. Add that in with a pretty girl they both like and you’ve got trouble.”

She groans for what seems to be the umpteenth time this morning and slams her head down on the table.

“I just wanna play music,” she mutters.

“What was that?” Hayden asks.

“I just want to play music, not get stuck in some sappy teenage love triangle or whatever the hell this is.”

“Give it a week. It’ll die down,” Finley assures sullenly.

“What’s up with you?” She questions, surprised with his tone. Fin is the jokester of the group, the one who never takes anything seriously. He seldom ever is seen without a smile, but this seemed to be one of those one-in-a-million times.

“Nothing. I’ll be in the van.” He pushes himself up out of the booth and stalks out of the restaurant, leaving a stunned Presley behind.

“Alright, seriously: what is wrong with him?” All of the guys look away from her confused glances.

“Or a better question; what’s wrong with all of you?”

Bren answers for the group.

“Nothing,” she gives him a are-you-kidding-me look. “Now eat some of my toast. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you not eating as much lately.” He adds in a low voice.

“I’m not hungry.” She answers automatically, rubbing her eyes.

“Eat,” he commands. Presley gives him a severe look.

“I. Am. Not. Hungry.” She accentuates each word before pushing herself out of the booth filled with confused men.

Her hands still shake as she opens the door to the Blessthefall van.