Come Back Home

Chapter Eleven

           

-Rye's POV-

            "What's your favorite thing about America so far?" I asked, stretching myself across the bed. We were all gathered in Nick's room, chilling out after the show and waiting for a movie choice to be made. The other acts were nice enough, but I found myself clinging beside the boys I knew – Partially because it was easier since they knew me so well, and partially because my uneasiness around strangers had never quite gone away completely.

            Over the course of time since the shooting, I'd developed a few small compulsions, just to help myself feel more relaxed, like always taking note of the exists and surveying the crowd whenever we entered a new place, and making sure there was some source of light wherever I slept. In a way, I'd kind of expected to get over PTSD entirely after going to therapy, but that wasn't the case – I had, however, been able to compact it down to a small enough size that I was still able to lead a normal life.

            "I'd have to say...The weather," Andy replied to my question, sitting with his legs crossed beside me. Mikey was out in the hallway, FaceTiming Liv after I'd bonked him upside the head and reminded him to. Brooklyn was playing some clapping game with Aaron in the corner, and Jack was passed out with his head leaning against the wall. Harvey was sitting by my feet, scrolling through his phone.

            "Yeah? It's been pretty fricking hot," I said. I hadn't quite expected that, considering the fact that it was September and all, but the east coast was proving to be quite brutal with it. At least America had air conditioners in places other than just the shops.

            "I've always like the sun," Andy smiled. "What about you? What's been your favorite part so far?" I bit my lip, thinking about it for a second.

            "I've liked the accents," I smirked.

            "You're so boring," Andy said, laughter bubbling up.

            "What? You can't say that you haven't liked them, too," I argued, shifting to get a better look at him.

            "They're nice." He shrugged. "I've kind of loved everything, while still missing home at the same time, if you know what I mean?" He explained.

            "Yeah, I get that." I agreed with him, because it was quite accurate – On one hand, America was incredible. There was just some sort of thrill at getting to travel and see new places and perform for new people – But, at the same time, I still longed for the familiarity of the UK. In a way, it felt like the better I knew my surroundings, the less room for error there would be, even though I knew that that wasn't right – After all, just how many times had I been to Slough Station?

            "Um, new question," Andy spoke, sensing that my thoughts were drifting. "What's been your favorite food so far?"

            "McDonalds," Brooklyn said firmly, strolling over to us and trying to squeeze himself onto the bed that we were all crowded into.

            "Hey, bog off. There's not enough room for you," Harvey grumped, sticking his foot out to try and kick Brooklyn off. I grinned, sitting up to make more room for him.

            "Seriously, Brook? Out of all the new foods we've tried, you're still sticking with McDonald's? We have that back in England," Andy retorted.

            "I know, and it tastes like home."

            "What you are, is a junk food addict."

            "I don't really get that name for it. It's misleading. Like, you hear the word junk and associate it with bad and gross, but the truth is, it's delicious," Brooklyn discussed.