You stand nervously to the side while Ryan gets ready to go on stage, his guitar already hanging against his hips while he talks to Chris.
You glance around uncomfortably, your phone clenched in your hand; you really hate big crowds, and Warped Tour was something you had never intended to go to, ever.
Sure, you like all the bands, you love the music, but you hate shoving through people, asking them to move out of your way because you can't get through - and the heat.
The freaking heat.
You're not a fan.
You chew your lip, leaning back against the trailer as you wait.
You'd only come because Ryan had asked you too.
You'd only been dating a few months now, your relationship was still relatively new. You'd met him through a mutual friend, and you knew who he was, you'd heard his music before. You'd fangirled a little on the inside, but you weren't one much for running it into the ground, either.
You'd kind of let it go, and after hanging with Ryan a couple times, he'd actually asked you out on a date.
And then, a while later, to be his girlfriend.
To which you'd fangirled intensely - but on the inside. You'd been beyond excited when he'd introduced you to the band, but you'd also been so nervous you almost backed out last minute because you felt sick.
Which is why you generally try not to do things that would make you nervous.
You're an incredibly anxious person, and you have to take medication to help calm your nerves and basically be able to function as a human being.
Ryan doesn't know that, though. It wasn't exactly something you mention on a first date, at least not in your opinion, and then the opportunity had just never arrived to bring it up, and now you were anxious about telling him how anxious you really were.
You didn't want him to think you were pathetic.
He was a good guy, you really like him, and not just because he's in a band.
He was just genuinely nice.
And you like nice guys.
The bad boys - they just don't work for you, make you... nervous.
But what didn't?
"Hey, sorry about that."
You raise your head from staring blankly at your phone screen, seeing Ryan stepping in front of you, his eyes bright and excited for you to finally see them play live.
"It's all good," you respond, forcing a tight smile.
"I'm glad you decided to come," he says, leaning back on his heels, his hand resting on his guitar. "That you were chill enough to separate from Panther," he teases, and you roll your eyes behind your glasses.
Right.
Your cat.
He was a rescue, you'd adopted him from the local animal shelter a few years ago from where you volunteered; he was missing half of one of his ears, and one eye, and his fur was kind of patchy in places.
But he was your baby, and you treasured him - him and Ryan getting along had been a major bonus to your relationship.
You were glad he hadn't been allergic.
"Panther can live without me for a few hours," you chuckle, nudging your thin-rimmed, black glasses up your nose; you'd tried contacts once, but they bother your eyes too badly, so you just stick with the basics.
