Who Knows When (Joger/Dealor)

Chapter 1

Dedicated to my sister, Natalie, who inspired me to write this.

"Humpy Bong," I muttered under my breath, rolling my eyes and shaking my head as I looked out the car window at the passing scenery, "I can't believe Tim fucking left us for Humpy Bong." There was an undeniable disgust in my mention of the band's name.

"Oh, would you give it a break?" Brian replied with a groan, having heard the same argument several times before, too many times to count. "That was months ago, Rog. We have Freddie now and he's already working on new songs for us. All we need to do is find a bassist and—"

"And what?" I snapped, meeting his brief gaze with wildly frustrated and exhausted eyes. His tightly pressed lips curled downward into a frown before he reluctantly returned his attention to the long stretch of pavement ahead of us, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel. I could tell by his actions and lack of response that he was contemplating pulling the run-down van over and kicking me out. After all, making me walk the rest of the way while he sped off was the more favorable option than having this conversation for the hundredth time, both of us knowing that it wasn't going to end well, especially while we were confined to such a small space. So instead, we decided to drop the sore subject and continue the drive in silence.

However, just because we stopped talking about it didn't mean that I'd stopped thinking about it. In fact, it was all I'd been able to think about since that night Tim walked out on us. I thought we finally had something, and so did Brian, but apparently Tim felt differently. "They're going places," he had told us, "They're going to be big...We're not going anywhere with this."

I kicked the glovebox out of frustration, my actions fueled by the unpleasant memory, and shifted awkwardly in the passenger seat, turning my back on Brian. "Hey!" he exclaimed, catching quick, annoyed glimpses at me as he tried to divide his attention equally, "Jesus Christ, Roger. Calm down."

"No, you calm down," I mumbled childishly, keeping my back to him for only a short moment more before shifting once again in the seat, leaning forward and pulling out a flattened box from the back pocket of my jeans. I tore into the box like an animal and extracted the last cigarette I had on me, tossing the empty container over my shoulder into the back seat and snatching the lighter up from the cup holder in the center console. My shaky hand brought the thin stick up to my lips as my other hand attempted to ignite the lighter's spark.

The wind rushing through the vehicle made the task near impossible, but relentless in my endeavor, I eventually lit the cigarette and drew in the much-needed relaxant. I held the smoke in for as long as I could before resting my head back against the headrest and exhaling, the clouded breath passing over me in a gust of smoke that only slightly irritated my eyes. "How do we know this guy's not going to be like the rest of them?" I asked quietly, my voice so soft that Brian almost didn't hear it over the soft hum of the radio whose station had turned to a strange combination of fuzz and spurts of jazz depending on our surroundings.

Brian heaved a sigh and answered civilly, "We won't until we meet him, Rog, but we're never going to find a new bassist if we give up."

I scoffed and took another drag, repeating my actions but, instead of making a comment, turned my head and looked out at the bright blue sky reaching out to the horizon, a sky that darkened with each mile the van drove. By the time we reached our destination, the sun that was hanging high above us was now only peaking over the unfamiliar town we found ourselves in. Nerves kept both of us inside the vehicle as we surveyed the location drawing in a crowd of typical college students. It was easy to recognize them based on what they wore and how their voices carried through the still night's air.

"Are you sure this is the place Fred said to meet him at?" I mumbled, flicking the short, burned-out butt of the cigarette out the opened window and sinking farther back into the seat.

"Yes, Roger. Now, come on." Brian turned the ignition off, and the van silenced with a sputter of the dying engine. He shot a glare in my direction, staring at me with narrowed eyes as he unbuckled his seat belt and stepped outside, slamming the car door and adjusting his jacket before heading inside. I defiantly crossed my arms over my chest and watched as he shrunk in size the closer he got to the building, standing out from the crowd because of his hair and his height. I kind of appreciated that about him, though I'd never say it to his face. He's self-conscious about things like that.

It didn't take long for me to become uneasy with the intensifying loneliness in the van than with the idea of having to try another stranger out to be part of our band, and in a rash decision, I jumped out of the van and rushed inside like my life was in danger. As I broke through the doors, I found Brian at the entrance, waiting for me.

"I got you this," he shouted so I could hear him over the clamor of conversation and live music that filled the bar, holding a new pack of cigarettes up as a small grin appeared on his face. I couldn't hold back the thankful grin in response to Brian's gesture, going to snatch the small box out of his hand when he raised it higher in the air. "But the guy I got them from told me you'd have to buy him a drink first."

My eyebrows furrowed together in confusion."Wait, what do you—" My eyes scanned the crowded establishment and landed on the only man sitting at the bar with a scarf and eyeliner, looking at the two of us with a growing smirk.