Collision

“Cam! You awake?”

I blinked, unhappily roused from my half-asleep estate by the voice, and the smell of coffee. Of course, who else was it going to be other than Gerard? The smell of coffee alone should have given it away. And the fact he was brave enough to wake me up. Most of my friends had already learned what a terrible idea that was, but not him.

Everybody else had gone off to socialise in one of the spare tents after the end of the meet and greet. I hadn’t bothered to learn which one, because instead I’d gone back to nap on the bus, even though it was still early. Mallory could bite me if he wanted me to work more. I’d worked overtime already and I needed my beauty sleep.

“How did you get in here?” I asked, as I shook off my sleepiness and took in the sight of the frontman stood next to the seats I’d chosen for my nap, clad entirely in black with a megawatt grin on his face.

“Door was open,” he said. I looked over at where he was pointing, and realised that the door was indeed wide-open. Well, that wasn’t smart of me. Luckily the security around here seemed to be pretty on the ball. “Just came to let you know we have a hotel night tonight. Don’t get too excited, but there’s the chance we’ll have real beds and even proper showers. I know right?”

I could have cried for joy, but I settled for making a happy little whoop. “This is the best day ever.”

Gerard nodded, sipping his coffee before adding, “Also, you have a guest. I ran into her sneaking around the buses. Apparently, she knows you.”

“What?” Confused, I looked over at the doorway as a familiar purple-haired head popped around.

“Oh my god, Janey!” I leapt to my feet, sleepiness entirely forgotten, and launched myself at her. She laughed and threw her arms around me, and we spun around a few times in the doorway, dangerously close to falling out of the bus entirely.

I pulled back to take in the sight of my best friend for the first time in weeks. She looked tired, but she was grinning widely, purple hair curled neatly into ringlets around her face. “Surprise!”

“You never greet me with that kind of enthusiasm,” Gerard mumbled into his coffee.

*~*

“I fuckin' l, o, v, e—love, I love you,” Janey said, slinging an arm around me and giving me her best, bleary-eyed drunken grin before turning her attention (and loving gaze) to the beer bottle in her hands and taking a long swig. “You go on tour with, like, loads of super-hot guys and still manage not to get laid. How do you do it?” She let out a few bubbling giggles, and despite the fact she was teasing me, I couldn't help but giggle along. “I mean – guitarists are pretty dang nimble with their fingers!”

“Janey!” I replied, scandalised, although I was mostly amused that she was so hung up on this alone – I’d told her a thousand and one of the things that had happened on tour, but this was the most interesting part for my drunken best friend. Figures. I wasn't in a good state myself and the fact that I'd been swigging down all different kinds of alcoholic drinks all evening probably wasn't helping.

Our group was in a dimly lit bar we'd found after we'd sent Jack out scouting, and everyone was at least slightly merry if not as completely out of it like Janey and Chantel. The black and blonde haired girl was dancing, but not in a normal way with a rhythm or anything as stupid as that; she had her choice of drink – vodka and cranberry, this time – in her hand and was doing what looked like every dance ever invented, combined, including finger guns and hip swings. She looked ridiculous, but it hadn't stopped the steady stream of admirers she'd been getting all night. She'd happily accepted every one of the free drinks sent her way and thus had quickly gotten more than a little tipsy.

I turned my attention back to Janey, who had decided to put down her drink and start spinning around on her barstool, still giggling giddily. After a while she stopped, but then she lurched forward — apparently to grab hold of my arm — and the sudden movement made her lose her balance completely and slide off the stool with a thud. There was a pause of wide-eyed surprise, and then her delighted expression was back. “Lookit, me and the floor are makin’ friends!” Janey yelled from her new position, grinning toothily. Then I felt something grab the heel of my shoes, and I glanced down, surprised, to see her holding onto them tightly and staring. “Cool shoes... like, rainbows. Awesome!”

I pulled my shoe out of her grasp and then went to get to my feet. The whole room seemed to sway dangerously, and I had to grab hold of the bar — and the person nearest me, which turned out to be Jack — to stay standing. Jack grabbed hold of the arm of my jacket in return, apparently in an attempt to help, but it only ended up making me sway towards him, then lose my balance completely and fall against him.

“Dammit... I can't be bothered to move,” I mumbled against his shoulder. He laughed, wrapping an arm around my waist when I snuggled up against him, pressing my face into his neck. “You smell really good... like... gooooood good.”

He laughed again. “You act really creepy when you're drunk.”

“S'not true. I'm not drunk, I'm happy,” I mumbled, pulling away to glare at him and finding that it was harder than it had been a few hours ago to focus on his face. “Damn you and your blurriness! Stop it!”

“I can't! You need to lay off the whiskey, hun.”

“Psh, do not!” I looked over at the other side of the bar, where most of the rest of our group was. Frank had apparently drunk himself into unconsciousness; he was asleep with his head rested against the table top, one arm hanging off the side and dragging against the floor, snoring quietly. On the other side of the table Liza was snuggled up to Davey, curled up against his side in the most affectionate way I'd seen her treat anyone.

“I think it's time for the hotel,” Jack said, pushing me back into my seat and then reaching down and grabbing hold of Janey's shoulders to haul her to her feet. “And I mean for everyone,” he added warningly, looking around the bar.

“Guys! I lost the floor.... help?” Janey whined, looking completely and utterly confused. I giggled and laid my cheek against the bar, humming along with the song playing on the radio — I had no clue what it was, but it had a nice tune. I heard Ray, probably the second soberest out of everyone who had been drinking, agree with Jack, and then I felt an arm wrap around my waist and gently pull me to my feet.

“Come on, let's get you back to the hotel,” a voice behind me — apparently belonging to the same person as the arm — said, and I twisted around to be met with the sight of Gerard, smiling gently. I stared at him, wide-eyed, for several seconds and then frowned.

“When did you get here?”

He gave me a peculiar look. “Cam, I've been here for an hour now. Remember?”

“Nuh uh, you haven't.” I used him as something solid to lean against so I was upright without any effort on my part. “You said you didn't wanna come. Yeah. You're unsocialisabling and stuff.”

“Um... I have definitely been here. Trust me. You've just been too busy getting as drunk as skunk to notice.” He rolled his eyes and then, with his arm still around me, starting guiding me to the exit. I didn't stop high-pitched giggles bubbling out of my mouth at the way he phrased it, mostly because of the way he said it with such seriousness.

“Drunk as a skunk sounds funny,” I said, laying my head on his shoulder despite the few inches of height difference between us and the fact I had to stretch to do so, and letting him pull me along without protest. I liked the fact that with Gerard's arm around my waist, I didn't have to try very hard to stay upright. And when Alicia wandered over I latched onto her too. She giggled and mumbled something under her breath, still clutching a beer bottle in her hand and waving it about. “You have tickly, tickly hair,” I said to Gerard, scrunching my nose up slightly when he turned his head and his hair brushed across my face.

“Mhmm...” I don't think he was even listening to me, judging from the lack of reaction, and I pulled a face at this and then turned my attention to the rest of the bar.

There was only a handful of other people there except our group, and the people that were there had paid more attention to the silent TV in the corner — showing a repeat of some football match or another — and their own alcohol and anybody else there. It seemed like nobody spoke to each other except the steady stream of young 'lads' trying to chat up Chantel, and in fact when we'd walked in there several hours ago the loudest noise in the whole place had been the stereo blasting out some old rock song. We'd livened up the place for sure.

“Come on everybody, we have to get back to the hotel. Gerard... make sure nobody wanders off, okay?” Ray said, apparently taking charge. He had his arm around Frank, who was now awake, but looked very affronted at being so.

Gerard grimaced slightly, as if remembering past problems with wandering drunk friends. “I’ve had to pull Frank out of enough roads.”

I stayed by Gerard's side, having made myself quite comfortable snuggled up to his shoulder, and ignored basically everything, even when I had my coat shoved in my hands and we all walked outside. It was surprisingly easy to make everyone stay together, although I didn't miss the stressed look on Jack's face when he had to grab Chantel yet again and stop her from swaying into the road. I joined in quite happily to the drunken singing that Alicia started, which involved a lot of mumbled forgotten words and not a lot of actual singing.

After a few disapproving looks from passer-bys and the guy manning the hotel's front doors, our large, rather raucous, group, finally stumbled into the hotel. Frank slumped against the wall and closed his eyes when our group gathered around the elevators waiting for one to take us all up to our floors, and when I noticed Frank's state I giggled and poked his side.

“Don't die, Frankie! They need you for the guitarin' and stuff!”

“'m not dying,” was his mumbled response.

I grinned and turned to Ray. “He's not dying!”

“Well, hallelujah!” The slight snort of laughter he made assured me he found something funny. I wasn't sure what.

A ding alerted everyone that the elevator had arrived, and when the doors opened with a swoosh Chantel, Alicia, Janey and I all charged forwards, intent on getting the best spot possible in the cramped elevator. I fell against the back wall, then promptly sat down and rested my head on my knees in an attempt to stop everything spinning so fast. Alicia plopped down next to me, grinning, and started playing with the charm bracelet on my wrist.

When Jack, Janey, Davey and Liza all got off on the fifth floor it left Gerard, Ray and Frank and Alicia, Chantel and I, and Chantel decided to start singing. Frank joined in, but the two other guys just glared.

Finally — it seemed like ages since I spent the entire journey trying not to be sick — we got to the seventh floor, and as soon as the elevator's doors opened Frank and Ray walked off, with the guitarist supporting the rhythm guitarist to keep him walking in a relatively straight line and not toppling over onto his ass. Alicia and Chantel skipped off, arm in arm, singing an illegible song at the top of their lungs. I didn't really want to get to my feet myself — that took too much effort — but finally Gerard grabbed my wrist and pulled me up despite my protests so I started walking towards the room I shared with Alicia and Chantel.

I could see the two girls just disappearing in to it themselves and I sped up. That turned out to be a very bad idea, because suddenly the floor was no longer beneath my feet. Somehow, I managed to trip over nothing and went sprawling to the floor.

“Ohhh fuckety fuck,” I mumbled unhappily, as I noticed that everything which had been in my pockets before I fell had tumbled out all over the gaudily-carpeted hallway floor. I groaned and got on my hands and feet to retrieve my runaway possessions, finding it harder than usual to grab things with my screwed up depth-perception... and the fact that I suddenly seemed to have four hands. I heard somebody laugh, and I turned to glare at them for finding my suffering funny when I realized it was Gerard. He still hadn't gone into his own room and was watching me with a raised eyebrow.

“Need any help?”

I shook my head defiantly, but he still walked over, crouched down, and gathered up the last few things and handed them over — including my mobile phone, now in several separate pieces because the back-cover and battery had both fallen off.

“How about you try getting to your room without redecorating?” he asked, nudging the newly stained carpet with his foot where the eye-shadow I'd had in my pocket had spilled out all over it.

“Assbutt,” I muttered in response, clambering ungracefully to my feet and grabbing hold of his arms to keep myself standing.

He held onto my elbow and guided me the ten feet or so to my own hotel door, and then stopped and looked at my expectantly. When I just returned his look blankly, he sighed.

“Keycard?”

“Um...” I frowned, trying to remember where I had last seen my own keycard, which was made significantly harder by the fact I’d lost the ability to think clearly about three drinks back. “... I think it's in there?” I offered finally, pointing at the door to my room sheepishly.

He groaned, then turned and started banging on the door. “Alicia! Chantel!” he yelled, loud enough to make me jump. There was no response, even when he increased the frequency of his knocks and yelled again. I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes, wishing a painful death on him for making my head hurt even worse than before.

“Jeez, trust them to pass out when I need them to answer the door,” Gerard said crossly, looking at me and then sighing. “I suppose we should go down to reception and ask for a new keycard...”

I waved him away. “Nrgh. Can't be bothered. I'll just... sleep out here, or something...” I trailed off and yawned widely, already half-asleep. Nobody said drunk me was logical.

“You can't do that.”

“Why’s not?”

“Because... it's not safe. You could get robbed or or kidnapped or something.” I opened eyes slightly to look at him incredulously. Even as out of it as I was I knew that was a stupid thing to say. He ignored this and pinched the bridge of his nose in apparent frustration, then nodded. “Come on. You can stay in my room or something.”

“You pro—propositioning me, Mr. Way?” I asked with a giggle, although not before frowning over my struggles with forgetting how to move my mouth to pronounce the word right. “Because I'm not saying no.”

“Okay, you're obviously completely out of it. Um... sit there, and don't move. Or get into trouble. Or do anything, for that matter.” He pointed to the floor, and I obediently sat down, lolling my head back and watching him walk to the elevator with fascination. When he'd disappeared, I found myself at loss of what to do, but I stayed there obediently and waited until he finally came back, grinning and holding something up. It took me way too long to work out it was a keycard.

“You have no idea how hard it was to convince them to give me this,” he said, when he was close enough, and then he leaned over and swiped it through the reader. “I had to use all my charm.”

The door made a click and he pushed it open triumphantly.

“Thaaaaaaank…. thank you.”

I pulled myself to my feet with help from the wall — which was certainly more stable than I was, at this point — and leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek as a non-verbal form of thanks, but then he turned slightly and my kiss landed on the corner of his mouth instead. I giggled and shook my head, waving goodbye and wandering into my now unlocked room and falling, face-first, onto my bed after kicking off my shoes. I almost tripped over Chantel, who hadn't even made it to her own bed and had instead fallen asleep on the floor, but I managed to side-step around her, although I didn’t really care when I accidentally kicked her as I passed.

Chantel's snoring woke me up at about four in the morning. I knew this because checked my phone after lying there for several minutes, staring at the ceiling and futilely hoping she would stop. I was considering throwing a pillow at her, since my head was pounding already — my body's reaction to copious amounts of alcohol — and I really wanted to get back to sleep, but then I realized just how thirsty I was and I knew, even if she did finally quiet down, I'd probably not be able to get back to sleep anyway. I sighed loudly to myself and then rolled out of bed as quietly as I could. I was already fully-clothed, thanks to my laziness, and so my decision to hunt out the vending machine I'd somehow remembered seeing in my drunken haze was made all that much easier. I just had to avoid waking up the two other girls in the room and get outside.

What I didn't think of though was actually money to put in the machine. I found out this little problem when I got to it, hit the right buttons and then £1.80 flashed up on the tiny little display. I dug into my pockets, hoping to find some loose change in there, but all I came up with was a spare button and a fifty pence piece. I groaned and hit the machine, then jerked back, expecting an alarm to go off. It didn't, although I decided not to hit it anymore and instead settled for swearing at it. Profusely. “Fucking overcharging shitti-fucking-ness!” I yelled viciously.

“Man, what did it do to you?”

I actually jumped at the unexpected voice, and turned around quick enough to whack my wrist against the side of the machine. Gerard was standing slightly further down the corridor, looking way too awake for this time in the morning and grinning, albeit slightly blearily. He didn’t look too much different from normal really, with his hair was sticking up in all directions — it was damp and had the look of somebody who’d taken a shower but not actually washed it — and a baggy t-shirt with rolled up sleeves, showing off just how pale he really was. It was odd, considering he’d caught the sun below his elbows and his arms were a gradient from slightly tanned to almost deathly white.

“What the hell are you doing up?” I asked, slightly sourly, as I ran my fingers through my hair to try and get it lay flat and make it look less like I’d been dragged through a hedge backwards on a very windy day.

He shrugged as he walked towards me. “A friend called me. I think he forgot the fact it’s, like, five hours earlier over there. Being absolutely shitfaced probably didn't help him remember. And now I've been sent to get soda.”

There was an odd quirk to his lips as he explained this, and I nodded and said, “Ah.” I didn't know exactly what to add to that, so I turned back to the vending machine and glared at it again. “Bloody thing wants money,” I said quietly, remembering his question.

“Don't they normally?” he asked, now beside me and looking at the display himself. “Although that is pretty steep... wait, how much is a pound in dollars, again?”

“I don't know... like two?”

“You're no good. Aren't you meant to be the smart college graduate?”

“Well, yeah, I attended university, Mr. American. But strangely enough, currency rates between dollars and pounds didn't come up at any point in my course. Especially not ones for five years in the future. I did fucking English, not Psychic Accountants 101.”

“Smartass,” he replied promptly, digging into a pocket of his tracksuit bottoms and producing a few pound coins and slotting them into the machine. It rumbled, and I waited, eagerly, but nothing happened. It didn't even spit out the money again. “Okay, you know what? That is shit.” He kicked it, apparently in frustration, and then turned to me. “Fancy some coffee?”

“Hmm. Yes, good idea. Can't sleep so let’s drink caffeine!” I laughed. “Is there anywhere open?”

“No, probably not. But our room has the things to make it.” He grinned, brilliantly, as if this was an amazing discovery.

“Oh. What about Frank? Won't we wake him up?”

“He's already awake. He's the one that demanded I come out here, after all. Apparently after waking him up it’s a social convention to get him soda. Or something.”

“Huh. Why not then.” I nodded and he led the way back to his room. It was quite bare — there was two queen sized beds, a wardrobe and two suitcases which I gathered they’d yet to unpack. I didn’t blame them, considering this hotel was only ours for one night and I hadn’t unpacked either. On the walls of the room was the mandatory horrid hotel wallpaper which looked like it had seem better days, even though I was sure this hotel was quite new.

I glanced over and saw the guitarist lying face-down on the bed on the other side of the room, his limbs splayed out like a human starfish and his head buried under a pillow. Still, when we walked in, he sat up, tousle-haired, and looked over at us.

“Hey, how come you can go to get soda and come back with a girl instead?” he asked finally, glaring fiercely at Gerard. It was hard to take him seriously when he still had faint sharpie marks on his face, but at least he tried. “I hope you brought some soda as well.”

“You’re out of luck. The machine was broke.” He shrugged, picking up a sketchbook lying on his bed and moving it to the bedside table with a reverence that most people reserved for young children and puppies, before flopping down on the bed.

“Well that sucks. Stupid shitty ass hotel.”

“It's not as bad as that one where they had cockroaches in the bathroom. Remember that? And a fly in the coffee pot. That was shit.” Gerard looked pretty comfortable now, leaning against the headboard with his arms behind his head. Apparently he'd forgotten the whole coffee thing. I took a seat, too, on Frank's bed, which turned out to be a mistake. As soon as I did so the guitarist seemed to find a burst of energy and leapt forward, grabbed me around my waist and pulled me, shrieking, to lay down next to him.

“What the fuck?!” I yelled, thoroughly surprised to find myself suddenly being spooned.

He kept his arm around me and moved closer, resting his head on my shoulder. “You shall keep me warm,” he announced. “Because you’re all cuddly and stuff. And Jamia’s all on her own and shit.”

I tried to move away, but his grip was way too strong for me to bother and so I just gave up with a sigh. “Dude.”

Gerard seemed to find this whole event amusing as hell. His quiet chuckles turned into full-blown laughter, and he was still sniggering even when I shot him a death glare. “Hey, I did warn you Frank is clingy!” he said defensively, throwing up his hands.

Frank nuzzled against my neck and I sighed again, forlornly. “You did, I suppose. Is he still drunk?”

“Hmm... probably. How come you're so sober, anyway? Like, four hours earlier you were completely out of it.” Gerard gave me a curious look. “In fact, you did that before, too. At the party. You were tipsy, but then you were all taking charge and stuff.”

I laughed. “I don't know. Alcohol and its effects just wear off me quickly. I think years of hard partying do that to you. That and liver failure.”

“Looks like you got the pick of the draw there.”

“Mhmm... so, about this coffee?”

He nodded. “Right.” Silently, I waited for him to do or say something else, but he just returned my look blankly. Then, suddenly, he smirked. He was doing it to wind me up and I wasn’t too pleased. “Oh, wait, you want me to make it?” he asked, looking at me wide-eyed.

I motioned at Frank, who still had his arms tightly looped around my waist. “Well, I don't think I'm gonna get let go of any time soon, Gee... so, uh, yeah, you fucker.”

He let out a long sigh and then rolled to his feet. I watched him walk over to a table shoved against the furthest wall, which was laden down with all the normal high-quality hotel things—a coffee-maker, hair-dryer and a TV to name a few, somehow all fitting on the small amount of area available—and, a few seconds later, Frank snapped his fingers in front of my face to get my attention, grinning in his very own irritatingly cheerful way.

“You checking out my friend for a reason?” he asked, tilting his head to the side. I flushed bright red and his grin only grew.

“Shut up,” I mumbled in response, trying again to remove the grip he had around my waist by prying his arms away. “I wasn’t!”

“Yeah, right. I don't get it, how can you be focused on him when I'm here?” His voice was teasing, something which only made me roll my eyes and, when I finally managed to pull myself out, grin triumphantly as I took the chance to leap to my feet and move to sit on bed Gerard had claimed as his own. I settled down, making a face at Frank which he happily returned.

Gerard saw this when he brought the cups of coffee over, and he made a noise something between a snort and a laugh. “Oh, yeah, that's fine. I make you coffee, you steal my bed. Great way to repay me. How lovely of you, Cameron.”

“There's enough room for two over here,” Frank said, and the combination of his ‘come hither’ gesture with his fingers and ridiculously waggling eyebrows made me giggle loudly. He was barely keeping a straight face himself and Gerard looked suitably freaked out, shaking his head and inching away.

“No thanks, I'll just sit on the floor or something,” he said, handing me a mug and then putting the other two down on the bedside tables next to his sketchbook. I laughed again, waiting until he no longer had hot beverages in his hands to spill everywhere and then grabbing his arm and pulling him down to sit next to me.

“Don't be an idiot,” I said fondly. “There's enough room for two here, too. No need to sit on the floor.”

He sort-of sighed and rearranged his position so he wasn't so sprawled out, due to my less than gentle way of pulling him down, and then I sat up and crossed my legs to make more room as Frank shot us both a glare.

“Oh yeah, choose the girl over your best friend. I see how it works.”

I laughed. “I think it's more because I have no intentions of groping him against his will, Frank.”

“You sure about that?” Frank demanded.

“Not really. But at least he'd enjoy it,” I shot back, pulling my feet up to sit in the lotus position and laughing when he tried to mimic it — and failed, badly.

Gerard leaned over and grabbed his drink, rolling his eyes. “You guys realise I'm still here, right? Because, you know, I just thought I'd add that I really don't want to be groped against my will by anyone. Just so you know. I’d prefer my groping was fully consensual.”

“Oh. We didn't really think about that part, did we?” I asked Frank. He shook his head sadly.

“Fucker’s always been against being groped against his will. Such a killjoy.”

There was a silence and then Frank suddenly jumped up, grabbing the remote off the bedside table and turning the TV on. I wondered what the hell he was doing as he hit the menu button, flicking through the channels before turning to both of us with a huge grin. “Anyone up for bad movies?” he asked.

“Sure, why not,” I replied, looking to Gerard for his opinion. He nodded.

“As long as I get to ridicule them.”

~*~

“There is no freaking debate! Halloween is, hands down, the best horror movie ever!” I glared at both Frank and Gerard, alternating my gaze between them. We'd moved from separate beds to sit in a circle—of sorts—on Gerard's alone, and after the TV show had ended our conversation had rapidly changed from the worst movies we'd ever seen to the best ones. I'm not sure when horror had come into it, but it had, and I was determined to defend my favourite.

“Oh come on, no way could Halloween beat The Shining,” Frank said hotly, pointing a finger at me. “Halloween is cliche and it has too many sequels. The Shining was actually scary! Jack Nicholson is a creepy fucking guy.”

I gave this a thought. “I mean, I liked him as The Joker,” I decided finally. “But The Shining wasn’t scary.”

Gerard scoffed at his bandmate’s choice. “Please, The Shining is particularly a Disney movie compared to some movies! I couldn’t choose an overall favourite. But at the moment it’s definitely Feast. That movie would scare the pants off you guys.”

Both Frank and I stared at him blankly. I had never heard of that film. “What?” I said, confused.

“Feast?” He repeated, looking at both of us incredulously, like it was hard for him to believe that we had no clue what he was talking about. “Surely you guys have heard of Feast?” We both shook our heads and he sighed. “Man, you guys are missing out. Feast was this awesome movie I saw, like, a couple of months ago. It was the winning movie of this TV show which was based around making movies or something—”

I held up my hand. “You know what, that sounds shit,” I said, cutting him off. “A reality TV show? Seriously, Gerard? Seriously? We’re meant to be talking about good movies here.”

“No, it was actually really good,” he argued, looking put-out. “It was funny and scary.”

Frank snorted, somehow condescendingly, bouncing his leg up and down as he talked. “Horror films aren't meant to be funny, Gee,” he said, shaking his head again. “And I'm still rooting for The Shining.”

I paused. “You know what, if Halloween isn't the best horror movie ever and we ignore stupid indie movies nobody else has seen—” I looked meaningfully at Gerard before continuing “—then there's only one movie which can ever be called the best horror movie ever,” I said. “I mean, why has nobody mentioned Hitchcock yet? Hello, awesome director?”

“You mean Psycho?” Frank asked. His face brightened at the suggestion. “If so, that I agree with.”

I grinned broadly and nodded at the fact he’d got it, thinking back on the first time I’d watched it. I was about twelve, and my mum had left Julian in charge of Alex and I. It hadn’t ended well. Alex had been too terrified to sleep alone for the next two months.

“Exactly! I kind of fancied Norman Bates, you know.”

Gerard looked over at me. He looked more than a little dubious at my revelation. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Anthony Perkins was a beautiful man.” I gave him a teasing smile. “I mean, he could make girls scream.”

“Fine,” Frank said with a slight huff. “Psycho is pretty good. But the 1998 remake? That was utter shit. So were most of the sequels.”

“Agreed!” both Gerard and I said at the same time. He wrinkled his nose up as he smiled.

“Glad we agree on something,” I said. It was nice to just sit there talking but when I glanced over at the alarm clock sat on the bedside table, my eyes widened.

“Holy shit, it's six in the morning!” I exclaimed, slightly horrified. “How the hell have we managed to talk for two hours?”

“Time flies when you’re having fun?” Gerard suggested with a small shrug. “Or, in this case, time flies when you’re discussing horror movies.”

“I really need to get back to my own room. Not that I’ll be able to get to sleep easily.” I looked over at the sideboard and the six empty mugs now sitting there. After our first cup I’d made another lot, and now everyone in the room was pretty much as buzzed as hell on coffee, especially Frank — he hadn’t stopped fidgeting since the first one, two hours back. It was probably a very bad idea, considering we’d all end up tired as hell later, but that was something I’d worry about later.

“You could just stay here,” Frank said, rolling his shoulders and stretching his arms out behind him until they cracked. I winced at this. Very few things made me more uncomfortable than body parts cracking.

“What, and sleep on the floor? No thanks. Anyway, Mallory would kill me. Nah, I’ll go. I just...” I trailed off, sticking my hands in my jean pockets. “Oh motherfucker.”

“What now?” Gerard shot me a look. It was a look which just warned me to say I’d done something stupid, as if he was entirely used to this by now.

“I, um, I forget my keycard again,” I admitted, still searching my pockets fruitlessly. Gerard sighed and rolled his eyes.

“You and those keycards,” he muttered under his breath. I wanted to say something smart back, but really, in this situation I wasn’t looking particularly smart as it was.

Frank, on the other hand, looked delighted at this revelation, leaping over and grabbing my wrists to drag me towards him and into a hug. “Now you have no choice!” he yelled excitedly, grinning radiantly and embracing me tight enough to make it hard to breathe. “Let’s have a sleepover! Fuck yeah!”

“Jesus fuckin’ christ,” I said, my eyes wide. I was used to the distinctly more hyperactive people in my friendship group – Finley and Alex being the usual suspects — but it was six in the morning and there was no way Frank should have been that energetic. “Gerard, did you put some speed in his coffee?”

“No,” he answered nonchantly. “But I might have slipped in a few other amphetamines. Y’know, just to see.” He’d picked up his sketchbook and seemed to have lost interest in the conversation, although he did cast Frank a warning look. “No sleepovers, Frank. I’m not having pink nails again. It was hard enough explaining it to my mom the first time. She was dead sure for about seven weeks I secretly wanted to be a girl.”

“You would make a very pretty girl,” Frank offered with a half-smile, finally letting go me so he could lean over and peer at Gerard, as if assessing if his best friend making a pretty girl was still the case.

I giggled, not nearly sober enough to pretend I wasn’t imagining him in a dress. “I agree.”

“Thanks guys.”

~*~

Exactly ten minutes later, Frank had crashed out. So much for his excitement at a sleepover. He’d flopped down, spread-eagled on his bed, mumbled something about monkeys, and then he was fast asleep.

Gerard sighed, put his sketchbook to the side and scooted over so there was more room. “Come on, you can share with me.”

I laughed. It was like being an awkward teenager all over again, I thought, as I climbed into the bed and laid on the furthest side. I still wasn’t comfortable with whatever was going on between us. “Your feet better not smell,” I declared.

He laughed, inching said feet a little closer. “Wanna find out?”

~*~

A pounding on the door woke me up at the ungodly hour of 10am. I felt – and I’m sure I looked – like a pile of shit. My head hurt, my body hurt, and I had someone’s foot in my ribs and an arm in my face. I realised both belonged to Gerard as I extracted my poor, battered body from the position we'd curled up in.

“Get the fuck up guys!” That was Brian, yelling through the door. I could hear the distinct note of stress which had invaded his voice over the years. “Buses roll out in two hours. Be there, or stay here. I don’t give two shits.”

There was a pause, then the sound of yelling from further done the corridor, and the stampede of feet above us as the other tour members got up too. I didn’t move an inch myself, too sore and too tired to consider getting up until it was strictly necessary.

Five minutes later, Brian knocked again on the door. “… Have you see Cameron?”

“I’m here and I’m alive,” I yelled back as Frank lept up and sprinted for the bathroom, apparently set on getting the first proper shower.

I could practically hear the relief in Brian’s voice. “Thank fucking God. Mallory is going nuts. Apparently he found Alicia sleeping on the fire exit. Tell those boys they need to get a move on, okay?”

“Sure thing.” I sat up and turned to my bedmate, and realised that somehow Gerard had managed to sleep through all of the noise. No wonder Brian was worried about them missing the rollout. I shook his shoulder slightly. No dice. “Dude, it’s morning,” I tried, still shaking his shoulder none-too-gently.

In response, I got a mumbled ‘fuck off’, and then hands reached up, grabbed my hands, and pulled me suddenly over. I landed with loud exclamation, all flailing elbows and knees.

Gerard shot awake with an unhappy grunt as I caught him with an elbow in his stomach. “What the fuck,” he said as he realised he’d managed to physically pull me on top of him. I stared at him.

“Dude.”

Frank chose that moment to emerge from the bathroom. “Shower’s free,” he yelled happily.

I glanced over, then quickly glanced away again, my cheeks turning a shade of scarlet. He was about as fully-clothed as a newborn baby. “Oh my god, Iero! Put some clothes on!”

He blissfully ignored my embarrassment, and the fact I was still laying on top of the singer of his band, and wandered stark naked over to his bag. He dug around for a pair of clean boxers as I clambered up, brushing myself off pointlessly. I may or may not have made sure to dig Gerard in the ribs again in revenge.

“Get up or I swear to god we will leave you here,” I told Gerard, who was still laying there looking mildly confused and very sleepy.

Finally, he moved, although only to sit up and then to stare at the floor, still wrapped in the duvet and looking as miserable as somebody who had only got four hours’ sleep should look. “Where’s the fucking coffee?”

Frank, who was humming the tune to a children's show I had vague memories of watching when I was a kid, was the completely opposite. He was practically bouncing as he packed his shit into the overnight bag he’d brought. Jesus Christ. Nobody should be that happy in the morning, I thought.

“I’ll see you at breakfast,” I mumbled as I left.

I retreated to my room, knocked until an exhausted-looking Alicia answered – she had twigs in her hair, and I knew better to ask. I gathered up my unpacked bag, grabbed my toiletries, and headed straight for the shower. The thought of having a real, proper, long shower actually made me want to die with happiness.

Scrubbed clean better than I had been in at least a week and finally feeling a bit more like myself, I dressed in my usual uniform of jeans and an unironic horror movie t-shirt and headed downstairs to catch the tail end of breakfast. There was a lot of movement as the whole crew tried to stuff their faces with food and also pack up and get ready to move out.

Finley was sat to the side at a table with Bob, Jack and Red, but Alex was mysteriously missing. I grabbed a bowl of cocoa puffs before taking a seat with them, noticing everybody seemed to nursing a rather mean hangover, judging from the heads in hands and grumbling.

“Morning,” Finley said cheerfully in a voice which was really too loud for a table of hungover people. He had a smear of red lipstick on his lips. Once more, I knew better to ask.

Bob grumbled something which sounded suspiciously like ‘Shut up, limeface’ into his half-eaten toast.

“Where’s Alex?” I asked once I’d settled. Red had his head buried in a newspaper and he didn’t look up, but he did raise a hand and wave at me in what I assumed was his idea of an affectionate greeting.

“Last I heard, throwing up,” Jack supplied, not looking up from his phone either, although I doubted what he was reading was quite as educational as the newspaper. “She had a long night.”

“Figures.” I sighed into my bowl of cereal, swishing the milk around with my spoon until it had turned into a chocolate mush. Part of me wanted to be the overbearing sister and go and check on her, the other part of me knew that was the worst thing I could do – she absolutely hated it when I did.

Gerard and Frank appeared at some point. The singer, clad entirely in black with matching black sunglasses, was cradling a mug of coffee and ignoring everything and everyone else. Frank, however, immediately bounced over to Finley, and gave him an affectionate slobbery kiss on his head before sitting down at our table.

“I love hotel days,” he declared. His eyes widened as he noticed a small sign advertising their breakfast options which had been left on our table. “Hey they have vegan bacon!”

And as suddenly as he appeared, he was gone, throwing himself energetically at the buffet table.

A couple of minutes later, Brian appeared in a whirlwind of stress and tattoos. “Guys! Get a fucking move on!” he yelled, although I couldn’t figure out if it was meant to be directed at his huddled group of very tired, very hungover looking wards, or at the whole tour gathering in general. Either way, an older couple gave him a dirty look over their breakfast. No doubt they weren’t entirely pleased that a massive number of weird-looking people had descended on their quiet breakfast space.

I gathered myself and my stuff up and headed into the lobby, where I found Chantel hiding herself in an oversized hoodie and cuddled up to Isaac, and Alex – looking pale and drawn – sat on one of the chairs, surrounded by the bands suitcases and a bevy of worried looking crew members. Despite obviously being worse for wear, she was still wearing red lipstick and her eyeliner was perfectly applied.

When Finley appeared from the dining area, something clicked in my head. I looked between Alex, Finley and then the smear of red lipstick on his lips.

“Hold on…”