"Why the fuck are we even here?" Tyler groans dragging his feet across the concrete sidewalk.
"Because... regionals? Or some shit?" Brendon answers, rubbing his eye with one hand and gesturing wildly with the other. The sun is barely shining beyond the horizon, the grass still soaked with morning dew.
"It's nearly time to load the bus, boys! Perk up!" Mr. Hasty wedges himself between the two boys, clapping them on the shoulders. He walks with them for a moment before continuing his original brisk pace to finish loading the percussion instruments onto the back bus.
"He gets coffee! No wonder he's so happy." Brendon complains. He stops moving to sit down in the grass next to Patrick, who is lying down. He is only just visible, the sun not having risen above the horizon yet. Tyler follows suit.
"Who's idea was it to get to school at four am? And force us to load all the instruments onto the bus? And then leave for an eight hour bus ride?" Patrick groans, flailing his arms about.
"Someone who doesn't fucking understand the 'teenage boy' sleep schedule." Pete's voice is gravelly from the early time, floating up from the space next to Patrick. The boys share a moment of silent agreement, using the damp grass and the sharp chill in the air to perhaps wake their senses a bit more.
Brendon looks around, observing the throng of students with drooping eyelids. The rumbling buses lined up next to the front of the school, who's headlights provide the majority of the light currently shining. The directors with their steaming mugs and loud voices, doing what they do best; directing. Students follow instructions to put their instruments and bags in the compartments in the bottom of the bus, then to get on said bus. It's all divided by section, flutes in the front bus and percussion in the back.
He loves it. Brendon breathes in a lung full of the crisp morning air, feeling energized to get on that bus and go to regionals.
A grunt behind him draws Brendon out of his thoughts. He turns to see Dallon bending over Patrick, having tripped over his barely -visible form.
"What -why are you...?" Dallon's voice is deep and husky, probably from the fact that it's four thirty in the morning. It makes Brendon's stomach do interesting things, Dallon's voice does, though he blames it on competition jitters. Even though they're not performing for at least 48 hours. You know, early anxiety.
The moment is broken by the booming voice of Mrs. Grant, yelling for them to load the buses.
Brendon watches Dallon sigh and stand up straight, grabbing his bag and rousing Patrick with his foot.
The group files onto the bus, and Brendon purposely takes a seat in the back so Tyler and Josh are forced to sit together, and Patrick and Pete are as well. It's very comedic to watch them shift nervously.
Though it's Brendon shifting when Dallon sits down in the empty seat across from his, hair all rumpled and bags under his eyes. Brendon adverts his eyes to his backpack, which he grabs a pair of earbuds and his phone from, plugging the two together and scrolling down his playlist in pursuit of some softer music.
^~^
heeeyy guess who updated early?
it me.
also, i need to address the fact that this fic has over fifty reads? and six votes? i did not expect this what is happening. thank you anyway, it means much that there are people reading (and enjoying...?) this fic.
update will probably be by tuesday.
mmbye
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The Marching Band AU//brallon -under major editing
Fanficit's the marching band au that no one really invited but it showed up to the party anyway. //rated mature for language //i was writing this and i found myself hating where it had gone so I'm editing it, making a plan for it. this time it'll actually...
