Stockholm Syndrome

Chapter 8: Tour Bus Fun

(A/N: this chapter is hella long but a lot happened and there's no real good place to cut it off. Enjoy!)

**RALEIGH**

I couldn't sigh a relieved breath just yet because the Box Car Racer tour was starting, and since it was my first tour, I was nervous as hell. Tom and I were going to carpool to the tour bus, because he offered to do so.

It was around nine in the morning when I awoke on the day of the tour. Tom was supposed to arrive at my apartment at roughly eleven. I had just hopped out of the shower and was finished packing my bag when I heard a knock at my door. He was an hour and fifteen minutes early. I opened the door, finding him standing there, clean looking. He was dressed in a black Hurley shirt, with long black Dickies held up by a black belt. His hair was brown and long, and it was pushed off to the right side of his head. The silver lip ring was in full effect. His eyes were cleared up, and he looked significantly better than he had when I last saw him. That led to a vibrant smile on my face.

"Hey, Raleigh," Tom said, smirking. His lip ring moved to the side when he smiled. This was the first time I had seen him smile in a long time.

"Tom, you're here early," I said, gesturing for him to come into my lonely apartment.

"Yeah, I thought maybe we could get some breakfast before heading to the bus, if you are interested." He flipped his hair to the side as he eyed me.

I stared at him for only a moment, and then said as I snapped out of my trance, "yeah, absolutely. If you don't mind, can you help me with a couple of these bags?"

"Damn Raleigh, we're only going to be gone for a month, not 5 years."

"Can it, Thomas." I said as he giggled.

"What do you think of my apartment?" I asked.

Tom stopped picking up the bags, then looked around and said, "I like it, Raleigh, though it's kinda small."

"What did you expect? I don't play in a band, and you don't really pay me a ton of cash."

"Are you asking for a raise?" He raised his brow at me.

"Not unless you want to give me one," I smiled more than I needed to. Tom went to say something before I cut him off, "kidding. I am getting money from all the tour sponsors and what not anyways, so don't worry about it."

"You ready to go, then?" Tom said. He had two bags in his hands, ready to get out of my apartment.

"Yeah I am. You look a lot better today. "

"I feel a lot better," he replied, walking past me, and I noticed how tall he was yet again.

We hopped into his car, and in the back of it was one of his guitars. Typical Tom DeLonge.

We stopped off at a local small breakfast restaurant and sat in the back because Tom was not in the mood to get noticed, I guessed. He sat across from me, leaning on his elbow, glancing out the window.

"Excited for the tour? Our first stop is in Vegas." I said, taking a sip of my coffee and yawning.

Tom looked at me and said, "absolutely. Time to get fucked up in Vegas, right?"

"That's the way it goes. Where is the tour bus, anyways?"

"Oh, it's in the studio parking lot. The guys are packing the trailers right now with guitars and amps and drums and shit like that."

"So how does this work? Do you each get your own bus?"

"No, we are all on the same bus. We aren't that rich yet. You guys though," he glanced in my direction, "you guys have your own bus, too."