Please

Part 5

You hum absently as you walk through the bus, your headphones in. As far as you know, all the guys were outside, goofing off; they had a couple hours to kill, so you know Ryan and Vinny are tossing a football back and forth, wearing cut up shirts.

You could see them through the bus windows.

Chris was lounging outside in a chair beneath a tent, talking to someone from another band, Ricky on the phone and laughing.

Who was he talking too?

Not that it matters.

You hadn't really talked since the other day when you'd burst into tears, and now you feel incredibly embarrassed over it.

You appreciate Josh stepping up to the plate, though, distracting you with TV, even when his show was over.

You had actually fallen asleep watching The 100 last night, both of you passing out on the couch in the front lounge; and none of the guys had found it pertinent enough to wake either of you.

And Ricky was almost giving you the silent treatment.

And you weren't sure why.

You frown, but try to push the negative thoughts away, instead listening to your music, humming along to it as you fumble through one of your bags, looking for a piece of gum you have hidden in there.

You did not reveal you have gum on the bus.

It was like a stampede.

Dance all night, to the best song ever

we knew every line, now I can't remember --.

You tilt your head back and forth to your music, finally finding your gum. You take a step back, still moving a little with the music, looking down before turning around.

And shrieking.

"What the hell!?" you demand shrilly, your hand pressing against your chest as you jerk one headphone out. "Are you trying to give me a heartattack!?"

Balz laughs.

"Are you listening to One Direction?"

"No!"

"You are! I can hear it all the way from the shower," he grins at you, and you huff, hastily jerking your headphones out and turning off the music, cheeks tinging red.

No you weren't.

His grin only grows.

"You so are! You're a One Directioner!"

You roll your eyes at him, your hand rising to tuck your hair behind your ear.

"I am not!"

"You are too! I definitely wouldn't have thought that."

Eh.

It wasn't like you could advertise you like a poppy British boy band when you're on tour with a metalcore band like Motionless in White.

It kind of doesn't mix.

You scowl at him, crossing your arms.

"Are you gonna tell?"

"Me? Of course not," he snorts, shaking his head, still looking amused. "But it's kind of hilarious, don't you think? But don't feel bad. I dig Lana Del Rey."

"You do?"

"Yup. She gets me, y'know?"

"I don't think anyone gets you, Josh."