User: jenish (posted by fizzyblogic) Date: 2007-08-16 14:02 Subject: (no subject) Security: Public Tags: fandom:bands:patd

One Minute There Was Road Beneath Us (And The Next Just Sky)
{Panic! At The Disco RPS. G. Jon. 100% untrue.}

It’s raining, he thinks, it’s raining, and just like that the first spots of water hit the roof of the bus.

(The thing about Jon Walker is, sometimes things happen to him like that. They happen to everyone once in a while, but what he doesn’t know is that they happen to him most of all.)

The closed space of his bunk feels claustrophobic sometimes. Curtain to one side, wall to the other, and sound somehow gets muffled more than you’d think it would. It’s dark, like winter afternoons sliding to dusk; except for the screen of his Sidekick, which glows.

(The keys tap quietly, and the sound forms a pattern in the air. It hangs, four inches from his arm, until two particles of it are stirred as he breathes out; they float on the gust, falling past the curtain and settling somewhere near Brendon’s shoes.)

“Hey,” and Spencer’s voice is quiet as he tugs a portion of the curtain back. “We’re here. Soundcheck should be soon, we’re going to get something to eat. Want to come with?”

“Okay.” Jon presses a few more keys on his Sidekick and tucks it into his pocket, sliding out of the bunk.

(The particles settle back when he’s gone, into the shape of a boy typing the words I miss you too.)

The air tastes the same but different everywhere, he’s noticed. It’s not just the smells, the venue and the buses and something else; there’s a taste to a place wholly independent from what’s going on inside it. Like the ground knows where it is and the air knows where it is, and they feel and taste something unique. You’ll never take this breath again, a dust mote shifting past his ear whispers, too quiet for him to hear it. Inhale, and Jon does, and the dust mote sails on by.

(Things like this happen to Jon Walker all the time. The creak of a floorboard spells out secrets the particles read and shape themselves around, wafting up and catching on a breath.)

Spots of rain dot Brendon’s glasses within minutes. It’s not that the drops are falling hard and fast; it’s just that they’re falling, and when you’re falling, eventually you land. He slings an arm around Jon’s shoulders and his smile is wide as he ignores the blur to his vision. “I’m starving,” he says, but the shape of the air in front of his mouth forms Bunks are lonely places, lounges are better.

(The thing about Jon Walker is, sometimes he doesn’t so much hear the words that are said as knows what the shape really means. Most of the time, he doesn’t notice he’s doing it.)

One of the crew members says there’s a nice place to eat not far away. A small place, with good food, and Jon orders something warm and watches the raindrops make their way down the window. They follow the paths of the drops before them, running down in grooved rivulets. “So Jon,” Brendon says, and Jon looks away from the window. “We were talking about the stuff we’ve been writing, and we were thinking like, tour’s almost over, right? So maybe we should start putting some things together.”

Jon glances over at Ryan at the next table, but he and Spencer have their heads close together and Ryan is making gestures with his fork over the tabletop. The tables are small, and Jon shifts his knee slightly as he turns back. It bumps briefly against Brendon’s, stirring molecules that move and change and reform gently. “Yeah, sure, sounds good.”

Brendon takes a bite of his sandwich, and Jon thinks about telling him he has mayonnaise on his chin. “Me and Ryan were thinking, we need to do stuff that’s different, you know, but not like – I kind of want to write stuff we won’t be sick of next year when we’re playing it all the time. You know?”

Jon nods. “I know.” He doesn’t say that he isn’t all that sick of the songs they have yet; the patterns still interest him, and yeah, maybe part of it’s that he hasn’t been playing them for quite as long as the others have, and maybe part of it’s that he doesn’t have to sing them, but still, as long as he gets to play, he doesn’t mind the songs so much.

Brendon shifts closer when his Sidekick buzzes in his pocket, tipping so he can tug it out. He reads the text and breaks into a smile, chewing. Jon looks over at Ryan and Spencer again, and this time they’re leaning back and Spencer’s laughing about something. Jon wonders why he didn’t notice the sound, but the raindrops on the window are getting louder, so maybe that’s it.

Jon thinks about getting his own Sidekick out and checking his email, even though he only just sent the message he wants a reply to. He tries to work out what time it is in Chicago, but gives up when he realises he’s not even sure what time it is here.

They finish lunch and get to soundcheck and it’s not until they’re inside the venue and starting to set up that Jon decides fuck it, and checks his email. He sees the reply he’s been waiting for, and he doesn’t even notice how much he’s smiling until Brendon looks at him and cracks up. “You practically have fucking hearts in your eyes,” he laughs, and Jon doesn’t mind so much when the amp he’s standing next to decides to blast out a sudden burst of feedback part way through soundcheck, or when Ryan and Brendon have a stare-off during one of the songs that ends when Spencer hits a crash on his cymbal and Brendon looks away, grinning at his shoes. Jon just plays, and his Sidekick sits snugly in his pocket.

When they’re putting their instruments aside, Brendon slings one arm over Jon’s shoulders and says, “We’re gonna play some dice. Maybe a couple card games. Come have some fun with us?”

Jon just feels pretty happy, so he has one arm around Brendon’s back, and he says, “Someone I gotta call first.”

“Okay. Don’t be too long, Spencer tells me he’s going to clean me out. You’ll want to see me whoop his ass, make him eat his words,” this called over towards the door. Spencer rolls his eyes in answer.

“In your dreams, Urie,” he calls back.

“Yeah, we’ll just see about that, Smith.”

Jon smiles at them both. “I’ll be there. I might be a little while, but yeah.”

Brendon regards him fondly. “Oh, you will be. And yeah, you will be.”

(The thing about Brendon Urie is, sometimes – not often, but sometimes – he’s right.)

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