Camera Shy || Ben Barlow

Two

"I got put with the stage crew again," Zach complained, walking into mine and Cara's designated hotel room. Zach, for a few months, had specifically hated the men he'd been forced to share hotel rooms with. Thankfully, for Zach, we mostly slept in our bunks on the bus; most concert nights were consecutive. 

"I'm sure you'll live, mate," Cara said, rolling her eyes. "They're not that bad."

"I doubt it. What the fuck is that noise?" Zach groaned, his obvious agitation growing by the second. 

"Probably the stage crew crying because you rejected them," I told him, gracefully falling back onto the pull out couch by the mould-framed window. Cara choked on a laugh while Zach sent me his best death glare, his lips tight. "Oh, if looks could kill," I teased with a smile.

"They hate me," he mumbled, making his way across the room and taking a seat next to me. "They don't even talk to me, Es. They just look at me weird and laugh together."

"Isn't that just what me and Essa do?"

"Yeah, but that's diff- what the fuck is that noise?" Zach's voice rose with his second noise complaint, referring to the occasional thud from the room above. 

"Probably the band fucking around. You know what they're like." Cara was most likely correct; despite all being in their twenties, the members of Neck Deep's personalities more resembled infant chimps. 

"What are the chances of their room being directly above ours, though? I'm complaining."

"Zach, you've been complaining since you got here. There's nothing new to announce," Cara said, rolling her eyes and flopping down onto our twin bed.

"No, I mean I'm going up there to complain to whoever's in that room." Zach defiantly placed both of his feet on the floor, no doubt to the disgust of a middle aged dad in the room below, angrily rising to his feet and storming out of our room, mumbling to himself about confidence and rage. 

"What's the bet it's just the boys doing what they do best?" Cause problems. 

"I'd bet my life on it," Cara laughed as she spoke blissfully unaware of the oncoming chaos that would soon come with a pair of (quite attractive, I should add) legs dropping through the ceiling, crumbling plaster and chunks of wood tumbling to the floor.

"Well now we know what the noise was," I joked as Cara yelled profanities at people (most likely children) running in the hotel corridors. There was an angry pounding on a door somewhere close to us, followed by some masculine giggles (as masculine as giggles could really be, anyway). I held out my hands in front of the frantically-swinging legs, hearing screams from the room above ours, as if my actions would actually prevent him from falling further through.

I opened our door to find all but two members of Neck Deep, dying with laughter, pounding on peoples' doors. "Is this yours?" I asked, my face scrunched up, indicating inside my room to the (now still) legs hanging from the ceiling. 

"Yes! We thought we'd never find him." Ben announced, rushing past me, the rest of the band following behind. They were honestly like little children. Thirteen and fourteen-year-olds, really. Sometimes it was cute, other times it was annoying; there was never an in-between. 

"Matt! It's okay, buddy!" Fil yelled, staring up at Matt Wests' feet, "We found your legs!" Matt responded with frantically flailing his legs, followed by a scream.

"Hold still!" We heard, muffled from the ceiling.

"I don't want a dick on my face!" Cara and I stared at each other, eyes wide, as the boys cracked up around us.