I stay in the bus, while 5sos performs. I have to admit, I've grown used to the scent of Michael's blanket, and I'm about 60% sure that I now smell like fast food and that distinctive guy smell. Woohoo.
While I'm waiting, I make a Twitter. Not a personal one, but a fan account. By the time the guys get back, my account is decently successful, and I have over 1000 followers. I'm not sure how I manage it, but I do, and learn as much Fangirl lingo as possible. I even read part of a fanfiction, and laugh, because of how delusional these girls are. I suppose if I was in their position it wouldn't feel foolish, but to me it is.
"How was your day?" Luke finally gathers the courage to talk to me.
"I spent the day on my phone and eating Doritos. What do you think it was like?" I reply, and sit up, making room for Michael and Ashton to sit beside me. I did choose the big couch after all.
"Well that would be my dream day." Michael stretches out his legs.
"I looked at your schedule, you'll be off tour in a matter of days." I state, in that stupid matter-of-fact tone similar to the one that the one snobbish smart girl in primary school used. Calum sighs, but I can't tell if it's out of relief or sadness. And so, I forget I experienced the action altogether.
"Where do we go to party?" Michael changes the subject, with a chipper tone that I do not like. At all.
"The bus is fine for me. Plus, this is America, so I can't drink. In public at least." With the last remark I feel regret weighing me down like a sledgehammer in the shallow end of a swimming pool. Mainly because of the shit-eating grin Michael wears on face, like a kid who's sibling got in trouble for something he did.
"What do you want to drink?" He winks, and I sigh. There's no winning.
"Something sparkling, but not grape or peach flavored. I don't like the taste of alcohol, so maybe try not to get vodka, or buy coke or some kind of soda to mix it with." I roll my eyes, and smirk in my brain. Hah. Let him remember that. However, I feel an edge of doubt when I realize how intently he listens to my request. He really is trying to befriend me. "Normally I'd just take three bottles of non-alcoholic wine, but you want me to get a little tipsy and have a good time, apparently."
"Yes m'am." He salutes, and the bus starts driving. Back to the hotel to get our luggage, most likely. The guys explain that we have a few hours before we have to go on a journey to see a new city. And so, we go to my house after packing their stuff, so I can gather some belongings. I insist on packing everything alone, in my room, but Calum and Michael somehow persuade me to let them in, while Luke and Ashton explore.
"It's not much," I suddenly become self-conscious of my small home, "compared to what you guys must have. Being in a band and all." I blush, and hide it, while stuffing pants into my suitcase. Calum laughs. It's kind of high-pitched, like his singing, but it suits him, and carries a joyful ring.
"Nope. Not including the LA house we get to stay in every once in a while- that place is awesome. But for the most part, we really still live with our parents near Sydney." He admits, making me look up in surprise. I had expected them to own more, being famous and such. Maybe I over-estimated them.
"Yeah. Well I guess there's no point in buying a house if we're always traveling." Michael shrugs, and sits on the floor beside me. "Need any help?"
I think for a moment, then pull open my drawer of shirts.
"Choose some nice ones out of there, and couple of sweaters. No point in looking like shit if there's going to be people noticing me one way or another." I wave my hand in his general direction, and realize how cold it is in the room. "Actually, pass me a sweater." I say, and take a large, black hoodie from him. I bring a set of clothes (hiding my underwear) to the bathroom, and get changed. I toss my dirty clothes into a hamper, and exhale. It feels nice to be in clean clothes, though I'm not sure how we're supposed to do laundry on tour, so I'd probably better not get used to it.
When I return to my room, my bag is full, and surprisingly, packed neatly.
"Wow, you actually know how to pack." I raise my eyebrow, and pat Michael on the head. Gently, because I suspect it takes effort to make your hair stick up in that many different directions.
Calum proudly smiles at me, and I yawn, zipping up my bag. "Let's go then, I guess."
"You don't have a purse?" Calum gives me a confused look, and I do something resembling a shrug.
"No sense having a purse if I don't have money."
Michael slides his wallet out of his pocket, and pulls out $50, holding it an inch away from my hip. He grins, and I take it, unwillingly. I don't like it when people do that, as if I depend on their support, but I'm not stupid. Money is money, after all.
I sit, spread out on my claimed couch beside Calum, while Ashton and Luke sit across from us. We wait for Michael, who is buying our drinks. While we wait, I learn that Ashton is the oldest, at 20, and that Luke was nervous to talk to me because he half thought I was going to use him for a sacrifice to Satan. Causing me to point out that just because he was the tallest didn't mean I couldn't have used the others, even though he is undoubtedly the weakest.
Michael returns with several bags, and my doubt cheers for itself, being right that he would in fact remember what I requested. He pulls out a couple bottles of sparkling liquor, and a case or two of beer for him and the guys. Except Ashton, who decides he'd rather have Pepsi. Although, apparently he does drink. Better to have at least someone who knows what they're doing at least. Even though I don't plan on drinking a lot, because there's no way I'm going to be drunk with these idiots.
Michael opens a bottle for me, and I have to drink straight from it, since I don't particularly want to use one of the dusty, who-knows-how-old solo cups in the cupboard above me.
Before I know it, I've done exactly what I said I wouldn't do: get drunk. It was hard not to, I haven't had a drink in forever, and it tasted so good. I watch Calum and Luke messing around on the couch; I'm not entirely sure what they're doing, but they're talking like they've invented a new language. Michael keeps trying to get me to make out with him in his bunk, and I keep almost obliging, until shaking my brain out. I may still be drunk, but I still kind of know what I'm doing. Not really, but enough to not accidentally mess up my life. Who knows, maybe Michael would end up impregnating me and I'd have to spend the rest of my days with him. However, the story is not going to take that turn, sorry.
Ashton caved in and started drinking. After a few drinks, he has decided to make animal noises in the corner, and keeps taking selfies, thankfully not posting them on Twitter. Yep, I'm drunk on a bus full of even more intoxicated idiots, and I'm actually kind of enjoying it.
The second the bus starts its journey to another city, Michael clutches his head and I have to hold his curled up body, as he groans. I really, really hope he doesn't throw up.
Ashton stumbles into his bunk, and by the almost instant snoring I can tell he's asleep. Calum and Luke continue to drink beer after beer, and I try to stop them, but it's impossible with Michael keeping my arms busy.
Before even ten minutes of me tending to a bothered Michael, Calum and Luke are puking their guts out in the small toilet at the very back corner of the bus. They did drink three cases of beer after all.
"Mikey, I need to go to bed." I whisper into the red hair below me, my voice surprisingly slurred, considering that I'm only three-quarters drunk. And by going to bed I mean laying on the couch with my earbuds in, on Twitter.
"Will you sleep in my bed? I don't want to be alone." He pushes his head against my stomach gently, and I smile.
"Sure." I start to nod, but stop before I finish even one head movement. What?! I agreed? Fuck! My eyes widen in panic, but I calm myself. It'll be okay. As much of a loner I am, I have to admit that I don't want to be a complete asshole to Michael. He seemed kind of scared, or nervous when he asked me, and I can't help but feel bad. Besides, I'll have clothes on. There's no reason to be scared. I think. I hope. I just lied to myself.
I let him pull me to his bunk, while I hold his blanket. Might as well use it.
He climbs in, and I sigh. I don't want to be squished into this tiny bunk, especially not when I'm claustrophobic. Whatever. I'll just have to deal with it, I guess.
I join him on the thin mattress, and roll my eyes, even there's nobody able to see it. The couches are more comfy than this bed. My thoughts become fuzzy. I can't focus, or think about anything properly. The last bottle of alcohol must be getting to me. Michael rests his head on my collarbone and his arm lays limply across my stomach. I shift myself so that his crotch isn't pressed so hard against my leg, and make a face. I can feel whatever is in there isn't small, and I'm not sure how to feel about it. Uncomfortable, almost drunk and for some reason tired, I kiss the top of his head, and close my eyes to the sound of his breathing.