If Only Until Morning

"Guten tag, mein freund," I greeted after fishing my cell out of my pocket.

"Morning," Brendon greeted in a voice a little less than his usual chipper. "Hey, you think you could play our set today?"
I pulled the phone away and gaped at before clearing my throat and returning to the conversation. "You're not using any semblance of subtlety at all. Something must be wrong."

"Yeah, well..." Brendon trailed off. "Look, can you just play bass for our set? I know you know how to play all the songs."

"And why can't your bassist play bass during your set?" Jesse raised an eyebrow at me, and I rolled my eyes in return.

"Jon's... well, why don't you come over and see?"

I paused in both exasperation and sheer bewilderment. "You do realise this is an excrucriatingly bad idea in terms of the health of you, me, and your guitarist?" Jesse and Sean were now watching my face change at the conversation, curious as to what was happening.

"Whatever," Brendon said pleadingly. "Ryan's in the shower. Come over here quick!" And then he hung up.

I groaned slightly. "Brendon, you jerk," I muttered to my phone.

"Wha's up?" Sean inquired, sipping his mug of morning tea.

Rolling my eyes again, I stood and collected my wallet and phone. "Apparently by socialising with Panic! At The Disco, I made myself their backup bassist," I said snippily.

Jesse gave me a sympathetic smile. "Don't kill him," he requested. I nodded wearily and headed out. We both knew whom he meant, and it wasn't Jon or Brendon. And seeing as Spencer probably wasn't even awake yet, that didn't leave too many people to not kill.

"What d'you mean he's too hung over to play?" I demanded, standing hands-on-hips in the middle of their lounge.

Brendon nodded fervently. "Drank too much, threw up in a trashcan, too hung over to play," he summarised Jon's night.

I took a deep breath. "Let me see him." I followed Bren into their bunks, ignored the clothes--and shoes, can't forget the shoes!-- thrown everywhere, and threw open the only curtain hiding anything. Jon groaned and pulled the blanket over his head. "Be a man, Walker. There aren't even any windows in here."

"My head hurts!" he moaned.

Brendon covered his mouth, trying to keep from laughing. "That's what you get for stewing yourself, Mister I-have-an-abnormally-large-liver," I snapped, yanking back his blanket. Jon squinted at me and buried his head in the pillow again.

To be honest, he looked too pathetic to give the ribbing he deserved. I rubbed his back with one hand and sighed. "Promise me you'll drink some coffee and a lot of water while I'm gone," I said kindly. "And never, ever put me in this position again."

Jon nodded, eyes shut. "I promise," he mumbled.

I kissed his forehead and shut the curtain again with a sigh. "So," I began, turning to Brendon. "What does Ryan have to say about playing a set with me?"

"Ryan doesn't know," Spencer said, joining us from the back. "Nor should he, judging by the vicious look you're giving me now."

I rubbed my eyes. "Sorry, it's... just going to be a long day."

"Well, we're on first, if that makes you feel any better," he offered.

"No time to be mopey!" Brendon proclaimed, taking me by the shoulders. "Go get your sunglasses and a hoodie and meet us at the Hurley stage at eleven-twenty, okay?"

Now it was my time to whine. "Brendon, it's going to be ninety degrees today! You want me to wear a hoodie? On stage?"

"Well, I don't have a better idea for him not recognising you." Spencer and I both blinked and looked at each other. Never before had Bren such audacity as he had this morning. "Just go!" he insisted, jostling me out the door.

"I'm playing Jon's bass!" I shouted at the closed door out of which I'd just been shoved. I huffed and readjusted my hat. "Cagne."

I took my bloody time returning to the bus, dragging along my own personal dark cloud. Really, I wished it were real, so I wouldn't have to put on so much damn sunscreen and make myself smell like a damn lifeguard. I preferred to smell clean after a shower, thank you.

Shaking a hand through my hair, I walked back into the lounge where everyone (minus Ali who was actually at the booth for once) was sitting. "Matt, I need to borrow a hoodie," I told him. It's not like he'd say no.

Matt made a 'what the hell?' face at me. "You want a hoodie? It's supposed to be ninety degrees."
"Don't remind me," I grumbled, mentally plotting to kill Brendon.

"Well, I'd give you one," he said with a shrug, "Except that they're all dirty and laundry day isn't till day after tomorrow."

I winced. No wonder there was that strange smell. "Jesse?" I asked, turning.

"Sorry, Pen."

"Sean?"

"Didn' bring one."

"Aero?"

"Don't own one."

"God damn it!" I exclaimed at the ceiling. "Well, who else would have a hoodie I could borrow?"

"Hoodie Man!" Jesse proclaimed, adopting a superhero voice and striking a superhero pose.

I snorted. "Pete's travel-size," I reminded. "I wouldn't be able to zip it up."

"Could borrow one o' Gabe's," Sean suggested. "'E's only got a hundred." I shot him a raised eyebrow. "Point taken."

I sighed and headed for the door, putting on my sunglasses. "I'll find someone."

And I did. It took almost an hour, but I found a hoodie donor.

"Why do you want to borrow it again?" Gaskarth asked, still confused.

"I told you," I groaned, tugging an arm through the sleeve. "I need it for a disguise while I play someone else's set."

"Wouldn't it suck if you overheated and passed out on stage?" Jack said, playing idly with his own hair.

I shot him a dark look. "Don't jinx it, Bakarat. I'm worried enough about with whom I'm playing as it is." Then I traipsed away from their merch booth, ignoring the called question: "Who're you playing with?"

I flipped up the hood as I neared the designated stage and wondered to myself how this would work. After all, several fans had already recognised me and asked if I was really a fan enough of ATL to wear their merch. Yes, and I also like wearing my clothes two sizes too big.

"There you are!" Brendon exclaimed, beaming. He came up and hugged me tightly. "I told him you're a roadie I conveniently found," he whispered in my ear. "And that you're getting over a really bad cold, so you won't be talking before the set."

"We really don't give you enough credit for trickery," I chuckled, picking up Jon's yellow Jazz and reviewing the set list.

As I was trying to remember how the ending to "Time To Dance" went, Ryan came up with his guitar and stood over me. I looked up and adjusted my overly large sunglasses. "I just wanted to say thanks for doing this," he said, smiling. "It's crazy that you're willing to just jump in and play like this."

I shrugged, giving him a friendly smile, and went back to playing; it hadn't even been this awkward when we met the first time. True, I was a lot more comfortable then, but still.

"Aren't you hot in that?" he asked cautiously.

Again I shrugged and managed to rasp, "S'good for my cold."

Ryan scratched his head. "Well, don't strain yourself." He stood there for another moment, in which I glanced up at him through my lashes, before jerking at the sound of Spencer calling us to get onstage.

After three songs, I'd already drank the three bottles of water I'd been given and was still dying. Brendon introduced me as Jon's saviour and replacement for the day, and I waved shyly to the crowd. While playing, I tried to stay as far from Ryan as possible, especially after I forgot what I was doing and harmonised with him and Brendon. Ryan kept watching me, I noticed, like he almost recognised my energetic playing, but the name was on the tip of his tongue.

We had one more left. "Killer Queen." Panting in the heat, feeling beads of sweat crawl down my back, I knew I would be able to make it through dressed like I was. "Brendon," I gasped in his ear, "I can't, man. If I don't take this shit off, you're going to need security to carry me offstage."

He nodded and handed me another water. "Drink up." I put the bass down and leaned against an amp while I downed the whole bottle and he talked. "You might recognise this last song if you like Queen or Guitar Hero," he announced into the mic. The crowd cheered. I gave him a small nod as he looked back and unzipped Jack's sweatshirt. A cool breeze flooded over me and I sighed in relief.

"And you might recognise our replacement bassist if you're a fan of Penny Dreadful," Brendon continued as I tossed the black monster away. More people cheered, and my eyes darted sideways to see Ryan pretending to be retuning his guitar, while glancing at the three other people onstage.

I had to hand it to the guy; he had a phenomenal stage face.

I was probably going to die once we got away from fans, but I thought I'd enjoy the moment while it lasted.

"Angie agreed to help out some friends, even though her band's not even playing today," Brendon said. "She's got a million hats to keep people happy."

"And twelve million ways of doing it that keep everyone else in the dark," Ryan added lightly. I flinched; joking tone or not, I caught that acerbic meaning. Apparently so did Brendon, because he started off the song almost immediately.

I realised, as the first chorus started, that this was the only opportunity I'd ever gotten to interact with Ryan onstage. And that, coupled with the knowledge that I was already in trouble, made me put on my devious hat, as Brendon put it.

So during the next verse, I strolled over to Ryan's side of the stage and I made damn sure he saw me coming. I smiled at him a split second before he harmonised and joined him, mouth coming barely two inches from his. I danced around him, still playing, as he executed the solo, leaning my head backwards onto his shoulder, crooning the words softly into his ear as Brendon sang into the mic.

He was so going to kill me. But hell, I had fun playacting and teasing him.

As the song ended and Spencer climbed down from his set for the bow, I slid an arm around his waist and whispered, "Want to start a rumour?"

With a slight frown as we stood in a line, his and Brendon's arms going around my shoulders, he leaned his head to mine, "About what exactly?"

I only smiled and bowed before the cheering crowd. After another bow and a wave, I turned my head and planted a kiss on Ryan's cheek, just barely missing his lips. Higher pitched cries went up and I laughed as we went offstage.

"An honest rumour," I finally answered, sitting down in the shade of a tent backstage.

Ryan seemed not as pleased as I, as he crossed his arms. "Someone's going to tell me whose idea this was," he stated.

I looked at Spencer, who looked at Brendon, who looked at Ryan. "Mine," he said casually. "Jon couldn't play and Pen knows all the songs."

Well. Find an argument for that one, boyyo.

Ryan floundered for a moment before giving a small sigh. "You could have asked."

"He did ask," I said frankly, leaning back on my hands. "He asked me."

"That's not what I meant."

"We know what you meant. You meant that you didn't get your chance to raise protests against performing with your girlfriend, because when she's on, she makes you nervous." I smirked cruelly at him. 'Nervous' was not the perfect word to use, but saying the word 'hot' would just make the oppressing air all the more noticeable.

But he knew what I meant.

"Mixing business and pleasure makes for good of neither," Ryan argued rationally.

"You know you love playing... music with me," I replied with a smile. Funny how a simple five-letter word can remove all sexual implications from a statement.

And pauses can put them right back in.

As we stared at each other, him staring hard and me smiling, I noticed in my peripheral that Bren and Spence were getting uncomfortable at witnessing our little spat. So I tilted my head at Ryan and suggested lightly, "This is not very hospitable of us, to have an argument in front of cohorts. Perhaps we should use more cordiality and conduct this colloquy elsewhere?"

Ryan remained still for a moment before nodding and muttering that he'd see the guys later. I winked at them and threw on Jack's hoodie again as I followed him away. We took the back-ways, weaving a path through roadies and preparing musicians. After a few minutes, we arrived at a secluded spot a little ways from the busses and sat down on a picnic table, where we would probably later eat dinner.

"You're doing this because I didn't walk you back last night, aren't you?" Ryan said suddenly, eyes locking on mine.

"Perhaps," I replied cryptically. "Or perhaps it's to punish you for other things."

"Like what?" he asked pleadingly.

I blinked serenely before kissing him gently on the lips. I smiled condescendingly. "Like leaving me to my own devices to simmer and plot in my own incredibly twisted mind."

Ryan laughed slightly. "Alright, I guess torturing me onstage is just punishment for that." We smiled at each other. He hesitated a moment in leaning in, but continued when a slightest of smirks quirked at my mouth.

I tangled a hand in his hair and pulled us closer. When was the last time I told you I loved you? I asked silently. Far too long... but I don't think you've earned it yet.