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Chapter Text

His name is Alex.

His name is Alex and when he sings, he sounds heartbroken. He stands up on the stage with all of his friends and he smiles out at the crowd. It’s always the same smile, no matter if the crowd is thousands of people on an outdoor stage or just a few inside of a dingy club with drinks being served in back.

They have seen each other all the time for weeks now, and it is impossible to avoid him. There's something about the way he pants when he gets off stage and flashes that smile with ease that makes everyone want to talk to him.

But all he seems to want to do is get his hand around a shot glass.

His best friend attaches to his hip at every corner. They’re sweet. They pour over each other like lovers and they call themselves gay, and that’s the easiest way to tell that they really aren’t.

His stomach twists as he watches them, anyway.

He spends nights in a van on the road, looking at his brother or his friends every now and again. He jots down lyrics in a notebook and glances out the window at cities rushing by and wonders where they're going to sleep tonight.

Vic wonders about the blond boy, and where he’s going to sleep tonight.

He wonders if he even sleeps at all. 

Chapter Text

The first time they meet, honestly meet, Vic feels the air freeze solid in his lungs.

“Hey, I’m Alex.”

He’s wearing that smile, the one he never takes off.

“Vic.”

Alex stands with his band, but a step in front. He’s a natural leader, and Jack (is his name Jack?) looks like he’s about to leap on his back for no good reason whatsoever.

And Vic stands next to his brother. Jaime and Tony are somewhere else. Vic can't remember. If this turns into a fight, he and Mike will be vastly outnumbered.

“I’m Mike,” his brother says, and then all of the other boys introduce themselves – Jack, Rian, Zack (so his name is Jack). He makes a note to try to remember the names, but the only thing Vic can think about right now is the way his palms are sweating.

He wipes them off on the jeans hanging from his hips.

“I see you around a lot,” Alex says, and his brown eyes pin to Vic’s. “You guys should come out with us.”

Jack laughs, because apparently this is such an obvious conclusion that it's funny. He actually does leap on the blond boy’s back, and Alex barely falters. He crouches to regain his balance and wraps his arms under Jack’s legs. “Pick a night, any night.”

“Fucking fat ass,” Alex cusses, glancing at Vic almost curiously.

And he laughs, because he feels like he’s supposed to.

The guys offer him satisfactory smiles.

The air in his lungs refuses to thaw, even when he and Mike walk back to the van.

Chapter Text

The four members of Pierce the Veil are sitting in their van in the middle of a parking lot filled with vans just like theirs.

Mike opens his mouth first. He tells Jaime and Tony about their invitation from this afternoon, their standing invitation to go out with All Time Low.

“I’m down for that,” Jaime grins.  “But aren’t they all like, underage?”

“They have to be eighteen to come on the tour, don’t they?” Mike asks, but the question brings up a good point.

Vic feels a little sick. By now, he’s starting to think the air in his lungs just won’t thaw. Instead of face them and the question, he leans his head against the window glass and looks out at the Summer sky.

His nervous fingers play with the hem of his shirt and he wonders what going out with the members of All Time Low actually entails. It's probably not the beach bonfires of San Diego.

“I’m not about to question it,” Tony says, probably their most quiet member. “When’s the last time we went out and did anything?”

For the last year, all they’ve done is work. Nose to the grindstone, they do it because there’s no better way to accomplish their dreams. They’re driven. 

Which makes partying hard.

They’re between albums right now, and opening with Chemical Kids is kind of getting to his throat.

But people are singing it back, and that must mean something.

Heavy grey clouds, bulbous, gather on the horizon.

Jaime turns the key in the ignition and blares the AC, wasting gas they don’t have to ease the heavy humidity in the air. “Where are we gonna go?”

“Dunno,” Vic replies, looking away from the sky and towards his bandmates. Long bangs obscure his vision, so he shoves them clear across his forehead.

Someone will have to go ask.

Before anyone says anything, he’s already feeling nominated. 

Chapter Text

The clouds on the horizon are moving in. They don’t roll slowly, like he’s been led to believe. They barrel through and turn the lingering sunset into an ugly colored night sky.

He wears a basketball jersey in the stifling humidity, a pair of shorts, and a pair of skate shoes. When all Hell lets loose on the pavement of the parking lot, he won’t be ready for it.

People scurry across the property. He can see Jeremy in the crowd, one of the only men who ever saunters around like nature has no effect on him.

Vic’s face lights up. Lately, he spends a lot of time talking to Jeremy.

Bright parking lot lights illuminate the both of them.

Sometimes, they talk about collaborating and making something ethereal. Sometimes, they talk about what life would be like if they made it even bigger than these stages.

A Day to Remember brings twice as many people to the table as Pierce the Veil does. Jer is only an asshole about it sometimes. Vic owns everything that ADTR has put out, even the less-than-great crap.

“Hey, bitch!” Jeremy doesn’t hesitate to call out when he sees him.

Vic’s sense of familiarity with Jeremy wins over his sense of responsibility to find All Time Low.

“Hey,” he calls back, and within a few seconds they’re leaning with their backs against a stranger’s van. It’s larger than Pierce the Veil’s, smaller than A Day to Remember’s, and perfect for their needs. Neither seems to feel odd about not knowing exactly who could be trying to get some sleep inside. “What are you up to?” Vic asks, watching his friend rub a hand over his beard.

“Hanging out, thinking about hanging low for a while until this storm passes. Don’t really wanna get on the road yet.” Jeremy glances over his shoulder in the direction of the tents, almost like he can see through the van they’re claiming for the time being. “Might hang and party. Half the people are still here.”

The knots tighten in his stomach.

He was supposed to do something. “Do you know if Alex is over there?” The name still feels weird on his tongue. “One of the guys from All Time Low.”

“There’s a lot of Alex’s, dude.” Which is true. All Time Low doesn’t have a lot in common with A Day to Remember, and he’s never seen Jeremy around anyone in it.

“We’re supposed to chill with them tonight. Everyone wants to know where they want to go. It’s a mess.” Vic exaggerates and he laughs, pushing his body away from the van. “If I don’t find them, I’m gonna just call you in a little while.”

To emphasize his point, he takes his cell phone out of his pocket and waves it at Jeremy – an iPhone 3G, brand new.

“If you spent your money on guitar lessons instead of cell phones, you’d probably have a better band by now.”

Vic flips Jeremy off over his shoulder while walking away, but he laughs.

The first rain drops begin to fall. 

Chapter Text

There is no sticker on the side of the van that says “All Time Low” or anything. The only way Vic knows that this one is the right one is because that boy, Zack, is standing outside of it.

It looks like all of the clothing in the world would still be too big on him.

Vic raises his hand in a wave. Zack smiles and doesn’t say anything. Instead, he twists his wrist and reaches behind himself to knock on the van.

“Is this like, Happy Days?”

Alex opens the door of the van and steps out onto the parking lot.

“Have you ever even seen Happy Days?”

Jack follows him.

“Fonzie knocks on things. I’ve fucking seen Happy Days, dude.”

Vic is certain when he watches them: he is old. Too old for butterflies and last minute plans with kids that are not even old enough to drink. If anything, he should be back on the bus and PtV should be working. They could be ordering dinner. They could be on the road.

They could be anywhere but here.

The raindrops trail down the slope of his nose, beginning to pick up speed as more of them fall.

Zack ducks back inside of the van, probably for safety. Jack and Alex don’t seem phased by the rain, even though the water immediately begins to ruin flat iron fried hair.

Vic clears his throat and it immediately feels raw. “The guys sent me over to ask if you guys wanted to do something tonight.” He pauses, watching the boys. "I ran into Jeremy, one of the guys I know. He says people are riding out the storm here, partying in some of the tents.” His voice raises slightly in pitch, shifting the statement to an implied question.

Do you want to stay here?

The two of them share a glance. There is a world of conversation going on between them, and they don’t even need to open their mouths. This is how he and Mike can be, but they are brothers. They’ve grown up together.

Do people feel like outsiders when they watch them? Do people feel like this?

Vic’s gaze is squirrely, dark eyes flicking from one corner of his vision to the other and back again.

“We could stay here.”

“-Meet new people.”

As soon as one of them starts to speak, the other one is speaking right on top of them to confirm what’s being said.

“I’ll let them know that we’re gonna stay a while,” Vic says. They make small talk – the bands will meet back at All Time Low’s van in fifteen minutes, and they’ll head in together. It feels like the kind of thing he would have done in high school, just to make sure he didn’t have to go to something alone.

When Vic crosses the parking lot this time, he sees more people. They dash along in the steady rain, running for standing tents and the flood lights guiding the way.

He can already hear whoops and someone banging on cymbals.

Chapter Text

It doesn’t take anything to convince the guys that they should go down to the party.

It only gets louder as they sit in the van and the rain comes down. Tony is itching to stretch his legs. That is how the four of them end up back at All Time Low’s van.

The rain speckles their clothing as they make the trek over. Mike is the one that knocks on the side of the vehicle this time. The pop-punk boys pour out like steam from a therapeutic shower.

There is shoving, laughing, and joking like they’ve all known each other for years, but Vic is careful.

He stays on the outside, next to Mike as Jaime and Rian knock shoulders.

This is how the eight of them end up under one of the large white tents. It is crowded with members from a good number of the bands. Vic spots Jeremy and throws him a more subdued smile. Most of the people he recognizes get the same treatment, since Alex and Jack don’t stop talking long enough for anyone else to break away and say a word to someone else. Their energy is tangible.

Something about being around them could make other people feel more alive. When Alex looks at him while he laughs, it’s hard to focus. Vic is certain he feels his heartbeat more in this moment than he ever has.

He feels like a drowned rat, though - soaked through to the bone.

There is no keg when they walk in, but twenty minutes later there are several kegs – and they just appear to keep multiplying.

Which is good.

Vic needs a drink.

No one stops Jack or Alex from leaning against a keg and all but claiming it as their own.

They’re talking about nothing when Jack poses the dare.

“Twenty dollars says you’re a pussy that can’t do a fucking keg stand,” He murmurs, mirth sparkling in his eyes as he watches his best friend.

Alex places his cup on the ground, the challenge reflected in his posture. Vic laughs, one of the only people that hears the comment.

But people definitely crowd around as the blond tries, and fails.

Against the back wall of the tent, people are playing something fast and heavy. It makes the attempt seem all that more intense.

Or, it does until Zack and Jaime are holding Alex’s legs up and helping him into an assisted keg stand. People laugh and cheer and a girl steps up, beautiful. Her skin is covered in ink, her hair is bright, and when she smiles you feel like she means it.

When Alex gets down and sees her, he smiles in return. His smile is bright enough to make you forget the rain pouring down; the very rain that seeps under the sides of the tent and creates puddles at your feet.

“Hello.”

Alex was built to flirt, Vic decides.

His smile gets bigger. His eyes go half lidded. His entire posture changes as he seems to curl around the girl without actually touching her. When his cup touches his lips, now off the ground and back in his hands, even that seems seductive.

How can someone so awkward seem that… attractive?

Chapter Text

When Alex is paying attention to you, you feel like you are the only person in the world.

When Alex is paying attention to someone else, you feel like they are the only person in the world.

One of those hurts like a bandaid that you just can't make yourself rip off. 

The blond moves away from the keg of his shame and towards the girl. From here, Vic can see how clear her eyes are and how focused they are on the other vocalist.

Jack isn’t phased. He takes to owning the keg and charging anyone that wants to use it with ridiculous bets and dares.

For his first, Vic has to smile.

For his second, Vic has to do jumping jacks.

For his third, Vic has to chug.

And by the time his forth comes, Jack is barely standing on his own and Vic can refill his red solo cup as much as he wants to. He wanders away, a sway in his step that he refuses to acknowledge as a sign that he’s had too much.

The man that’s alternating between screaming and singing in the tent is Craig Owens. This feels like something he should have known just by listening, but he doesn’t care right now.

Even this far away, he feels like he can still hear Alex flirting his full mouth right off.

Vic and Craig have spoken even more than he and Jeremy, lately - which is saying something. Chiodos brings in more people than A Day to Remember and Pierce the Veil combined, but Vic never really feels flattered because Craig never makes him feel like he should.

Craig croons. There are tattoos down his arms and ink creeping across his chest, peeking out of a v-neck. His smile is crooked, his hair soaked with sweat and stringy against his brow.

He pours everything into that microphone.

It makes Vic’s soul ache.

Between songs, Craig laughs and banters. “Fuck off,” he mumbles against the mic when Matt Goddard jeers, lips pressed so close that it sounds like static. “You get up here and perform for a bunch of ungrateful douchebags, tell me how you like it.”

But everyone laughs. Craig does one more song and then he steps down, someone else immediately stepping up to take the spot he left vacant. Everyone wants to show off in front of a room of people doing the same thing. They all want to be better under the guise of having a good time.

The damp singer makes a beeline for the nearest keg and Vic follows him. Moving is easy. It’s coming to a stop that isn’t. He nearly walks right on the blond’s heels, laughing when he manages to steady himself by grasping onto the shoulder of a stranger.

“You’re fucked up, I take it?” Craig asks once his cup is full, turning to look Vic over. The Hispanic man has no idea what a giveaway the wide smile on his lips is, the likes of which Craig has never seen on the older Fuentes.

“A little bit,” Vic slurs, soft.

“You look good fucked up. I didn’t know you knew how to smile when you weren’t in front of a bunch of cameras.”

The blond, just a little taller than Vic, bumps their foreheads together. For a minute, it’s easy to pretend that everything is going to be fine. “You look good,” he returns, hands brushing over Craig’s hips, confident as they tread the line of friendship. “We don’t… We should work together, too.”

Vic doesn't know that this seems to come out of nowhere. He is too drunk to care.

“I think we’d kill each other first,” he whispers, and his mouth is very close to Vic’s. 

Chapter Text

In this moment, Vic realizes that he has no idea how many drinks he’s had.

When he breathes, his breath is warm on Craig’s lips. He can smell the alcohol on their breath, collectively making even this closeness a bad decision.

For one brief moment, Vic is able to completely forget the crowd, which is even better than pretending he’s fine.

“I’m going back to the bus. Maybe you should come with me.”

Craig takes a step away and tosses his head back, beer slithering down his throat and making his adam’s apple bob with every swallow.

“Heeeey, what’re we doin’ over here?”

Jack’s arm slings around him, invading Vic’s space the same way his drunken voice invades his ears. Jack is taller than Vic could ever dream to be, even a little taller than his partner in crime.

“Drinking,” Craig replies, a crooked smile changing the entire way his face looks. “Not nearly enough, actually. About to go back to the bus and soothe my throat with something a little harder.”

There’s no real innuendo in that, but Vic still finds himself instinctively adjusting his shirt to find something to do with his hands.

Jack and Craig laugh, so he cracks a smile.

Jack doesn’t seem to notice that Vic isn’t the most comfortable person like this. There’s no concern in his eyes when he looks down at the shorter man, then off to the vocalist cracking a red solo cup in his hand. “Sounds good, man.”

For Craig, that’s as good as a dismissal.

He looks Vic over and then he’s gone, out of the tent and back across the parking lot.

Once they can’t see him anymore, Jack turns his full attention back on his captive. Slight dread fills his stomach, and he isn’t even sure why.

“You know where Alex went? Been looking for him. I have no idea if it’s safe to go back to the van or not.”

The dread balls tightly in the pit of his stomach. “No. Haven’t seen him for a few.” And when he shakes his head, his vision lags and the world spins.

Despite himself, he laughs.

“Whatever,” Jack says, shrugging as though it were some grand gesture. “Fuck it. C’mon, we’re trading stories, you antisocial mother fucker.”

And without his consent, Vic is led back to the group. Old friends and new friends crowd around a keg and tell stories to bands of raucous laughter. 

Craig drinks alone.

Chapter Text

Vic Fuentes has come to accept that Warped Tour is literally the only place in the world where you can feel at home in a new city every single day.

The crowds are always different, but always welcoming and insane. Even the young kids that come to rock out are living outside the box, and he smiles every single time he gets on stage.

He has made a ton of friends.

The July nights are getting better.

Jack Barakat cannot, for his life, leave Vic alone. He is the energizer bunny on steroids. Jaime and Tony are drawn to him like moths to a self destructive flame.

Vic cannot count the times they have gotten lost out in the cities looking for just the right Starbucks with just the right barista to flirt with. He can’t count the amount of liquor bottles he has carried out of stores, just so that he can hand them over to Jack when they turn the corner around the block.

It is nine in the morning when Vic is sitting outside of the van. He leans against the hood with a small notebook in his hands.

“Thing One and Thing Two,” he murmurs when he finally flicks his eyes up from the pages. Jack and Alex, glued at the hip, swagger their way across the lot and in his general direction. He is used to the lanky brunet, by now.

But when his eyes move from the guitarist’s to the vocalist’s, his stomach ties itself up in knots. This is beginning to become a familiar feeling. It doesn’t stop when Alex is with girls. It doesn’t stop when he’s on stage. It gets worse when he smiles.

Vic has given up on it getting better.

“Which thing am I?” Jack calls, bantering before he is even within three yards of Vic.

“Whichever one sucks worse,” Alex smirks, and Vic can already tell that it is going to be That Kind of Day.

The bags under Alex’s eyes seem to suggest that he has not slept in days, but Vic does his best not to think about it. They don’t talk about personal things. In fact, they don’t really talk about anything.

Talking with Alex Gaskarth is exhausting. You have to be funny, you have to know when to laugh, you have to be able to take a joke at your own expense and you have to understand that it’s superficial.

The boy that sounds heartbroken when he croons Jasey Rae to a crowd has no interest in talking about what he’s thinking. He’d rather be the boy that laughs his way through Dear Maria, Count Me In.

It’s annoying to find that annoying.

“Aren’t you supposed to be mingling with your own kind?”

Jack scoffs as they close the distance, both boys taking place at his sides and leaning against the van. The vehicle shifts under their weight. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I think he just called you immature,” Alex says, sounding more affronted than ever.

“Sounds like he doesn’t wanna spend time with us, Alex.”

“Prick.”

“Asshole.”

The two of them go on about Vic solely for his benefit. They like having an audience – so Vic just rolls his eyes and lets them go on. When he doesn’t reply, Jack takes it a little too far.

He reaches over and takes the notebook from Vic’s hands, thumbing through college-ruled pages.

Vic tries to be nice about it.

But in the end, he simply snatches it back.

Jack doesn't resist. For a moment before he breaks out into a smile, their eyes meet and Vic knows what he saw.

I never knew what I would do if anybody tried to take you away

And your beautiful boy won't wait for you, because he’s busy with the stars and the fame.

“Someone’s possessive,” Alex quips, and Jack smirks at him.

“Tell me about it.”

Vic’s blood runs cold, and he wonders what he’s done to deserve this, really.

Chapter Text

They’re just lyrics.

Vic spends most of the time he has alone working on things. This doesn’t feel right for Pierce the Veil, but they’re words that he feels deserve to be poured out onto the page. They have burnt at his fingertips for too long.

And they don’t mean anything in particular.

They

don’t

mean

ANYTHING.

“Maybe I just don’t want to spoil the surprise of a new album,” Vic replies, finding words somewhere in the clutch.

The way he closes the cover of the notebook and holds it close to his hip is too casual. Everything he does is noticeable. The sky could open up and release nothing but flaming doves, and the world would still stare at him without blinking.

Or so this is how it feels.

But Alex and Jack have forgotten the strange behavior already.

“Artists.”

And then they’re laughing, ripping on him for keeping to himself.

“Are you going to end up offing yourself in the end? I think that’s what artist types do, right?” Jack smirks, and Vic isn’t sure if he should smile or punch him square in the jaw. “It’s like you don’t even want to have fun.”

This is an argument they have at least once a week when Alex is around. The rest of the time, Jack has no problem with him.

But when Alex is there, everything is thrown into overdrive and Vic seems to live his life a little too slowly for it to be satisfactory.

He has the sneaking suspicion that Alex doesn’t care how loud he is.

“You wanna have fun? Let’s do this shit,” Vic murmurs, pushing himself away from the van in one grand gesture. He opens the door of the vehicle and throws his notebook in, somewhere where it will be safe from prying eyes.

When he turns around, Alex’s eyes are a little wider. Both boys wear satisfied smiles.

“This is Detroit, right? There has to be something to do in Detroit.”

And there is.

Avoiding lines is the start of it.

Jack keeps his head as low as he can. Vic turns his head whenever someone stares too long. Alex just smiles his wide smile, not caring who sees.

They visit the Blue Bird Inn, long empty.

They catch a taxi to Bert’s Marketplace.

They drown in the history of Detroit’s music scene while they shove each other into brick walls older than they are. They don’t talk about it, but they’re all wondering it – will their music last this long?

Their last stop is the empty parking lot where Bookies used to be.

“This was the place for punk rock fucking royalty,” Jack says, and Alex listens.

“All of Detroit… Well, why do you think they call it Detroit Rock City?” Vic laughs, tossing his head back and taking a seat in the middle of a parking spot. This is the kind of thing he would have done in high school. “This was the place to be if you wanted to make it. They didn’t have a Warped Tour in 1980.”

He wonders what Mike will think, knowing that he came here without them.  One hand takes his phone out of his pocket, beginning to take pictures if only to prove he was actually here.

“Hey,” he says, interrupting the boys halfway through a spirited rendition of Detroit Rock City, “take a picture of me for the guys?” He offers his phone out and wraps his arms around his knees after Jack takes it.

Without it being asked for or even offered, Alex comes and sits next to him.

He mimics Vic’s pose.

The camera shutter clicks once.

“I wasn’t ready!” Vic laughs, turning back towards Jack.

“Shut up. Don’t care.” But Jack is laughing, too, and then so is Alex.

And the shutter clicks again.

While Vic works on standing and going to take his phone back, it clicks three more times.

Chapter Text

They catch a cab back to their lives – the grounds, their bands, and their fans.

Vic looks through the pictures. He doesn’t want the other two to see him smile, so he directs the amusement down at his lap.

On either side of him, the boys tire of his silence. They don’t like when they’re not being paid attention to. They squish into him and try to make it difficult for Vic to breathe.

He presses the lock button on his phone and glances up between the two of them as the cab takes a turn.

He grabs at the grate separating the seats from the driver, but he grabs too late. His lithe form crashes against Jack.

And Jack laughs, groping at Vic’s flat chest as though he has a right, as though it’s perfectly natural.

“Hey, big boy,” Jack drawls, smirking widely down. The Hispanic man hastily rights himself, shoving hair out of his eyes just so he can smirk right back.

Jack almost appears surprised.

“Take me out to dinner first,” he laughs, and when he looks out of the corner of his eye at Alex, Alex is also smirking.

And they look like a couple of boys scheming together. This knowledge gets to Vic, doing something inside of him. It tickles. It makes him want to laugh, hard and loud and carefree.

But he doesn’t.

His lips press together into a tight and thin line, suppressing the feeling to the very best of his ability.

Brown eyes stay trained on him until the three of them arrive back, but Vic doesn’t notice. The men pay the driver in crumpled bills. They tip generously, so the man doesn’t seem to care whatsoever.

“Don’t you have to go be famous now?” Vic is the one to break their comfortable silence. For some reason he can’t discern, he feels fine. He is lighter than air, walking on clouds while they actually walk towards their sweltering stages and schedules.

His hands sway at his sides.

Jack calls a hip check, bumping him roughly to the side.

His swaying hand flattens, jabbing to the side instinctively to help balance him back out. It hits against Alex’s, brushing. Their eyes lock and Vic laughs, standing while a little burst of fire ignites his contentment.

He’s beginning to get used to this feeling.

“Yeah, we have to go be famous now,” Alex echoes, nodding and grinning while they navigate through the tents and the crowds.

“Famous as fuuuuuck,” Jack rumbles, and this doesn’t feel serious. It doesn’t feel like this is life or death for their careers.

It feels like something they’re all doing for fun, and that’s a relief. Vic almost never feels relaxed like this.

Alex’s hand brushes Vic’s one more time.

It happens in the sway of their step, the swinging of hands by their hips. It happens much the same way it always does when people are relaxed and walking next to one another.

It’s probably an accident. Vic doesn’t raise his eyes to check, dismissing it the way he does whenever it happens with Jack.

The eyes that have been on him all afternoon remain unnoticed as the boys go their own way.

“Dude,” Jack mutters, but Alex doesn’t say anything.

Mostly because there’s no need.

He ignores his best friend, and Vic is none the wiser. 

By the time the end of the night rolls around, Vic is sufficiently exhausted. Detroit has done nothing but treat him well, and better than he ever expected. He’s had a good day.

He’s starting to think that he can handle himself.

Maybe he doesn’t need to suffer through self imposed guilt all the time. Maybe he can move on, and not have to think about one person all the time, even when he should be focusing on the things he needs to do.

Maybe this can just be a good Summer.

Pierce the Veil loads into their van like zombies. They curl up in the seats and close their eyes, kicking off shoes and already half asleep as the engine turns over.

He’s given himself permission to move on, and he feels pretty free.

But even as he drifts to sleep, he finds himself wondering about the blond boy.

Chapter Text

Toronto, Canada.

They finish in Detroit and head north, just enough north to feel like a hassle. It’s late when their vehicles come to a stop on Canadian soil, but there’s good news.

After the set tomorrow, there are several days off until Warped arrives in Massachusetts.

By three AM, everyone but Vic is asleep in the van. He wishes that he could be able to find sleep. He can’t.

“The sun rises, the sun sets, birds chirp, more news at eleven,” he murmurs, pressing his head against window glass. Jaime snores quietly.

This gets him to move.

Maybe a walk will help.

Vic grabs a hoodie and a hat, tugging the beanie low on his head and slinging the jacket on as he walks outside. It stays unzipped over his chest, but it’s just cool enough in the July night for the San Diego boy to need it on.

In less than twelve hours, he’s going to have to be someone.

It’s easy to feel like no one in this grey area of late at night and early in the morning.

Vic doesn’t know Toronto well enough to wander out into the city in the dead of night. Instead, he just starts walking around the parking lot and slides a headphone into one of his ears. He listens, the silent background noise of the night fading in favor of bass and vocals.

He feels a nudge, first gentle. He brushes it off as the wind. The second time he feels  it, his heart pounds and adrenaline races, getting ready for him to flee. When he glances over his shoulder, all he sees is the glowing red of a cigarette butt.

His eyes narrow, and he slowly pull the headphone out of his ear. “What?”

Jeremy removes the cigarette from his lips, tapping it at his side to knock the ash onto the ground. “Thought that was you.”

“And if I was a stranger, I would have pissed myself,” he mutters, taking a deep breath that he hopes is quiet enough to go unnoticed and good enough to quell his nerves.

“Where were you all day?” And it strikes him that maybe he isn’t the only person on this tour that struggles with a normal sleeping schedule.

“On stage.”

But Jeremy doesn’t think this is funny. He rubs a hand over his beard and takes a drag off his cigarette.

“Checking out the history of Detroit,” Vic relents, and then there’s silence. For some reason, he feels the need to shove his hands a little deeper into his pockets. “What were you doing?”

Jeremy spits on the ground, a side effect of chain smoking. “Practicing. Playing. Looking for you. Mike told me you went to chill with those kids.”

This feels like an accusation.

“Yeah.”

More silence.

Then… “Yeah.” Jeremy isn’t full of jokes about Vic’s band tonight. It’s the perfect kind of night for the two of them to waste hours away brainstorming.

There is nothing going on to distract them from getting something done, but Jeremy McKinnon doesn’t seem to want to be near Vic right now. The feeling churns in his stomach, making him uneasy. He fidgets.

Jeremy’s cool eyes glance him over.

He clears his throat and drops his cigarette on the ground. Half a second later, he grinds his cigarette out on the pavement with the heel of his shoe. “We have to be up in the morning, right? Should probably get to bed.”

Vic gets the distinct feeling that this didn’t go how Jeremy wanted it to.

And guilt blossoms in his gut, unfamiliar.

“Can we get together in Mass?” Vic asks, and Jer nods.

But the guilt doesn’t go away.

Chapter Text

Where there is time off, there is alcohol. 

All of the buses head for Massachusetts right after the shows are over and the stages are clear. 

Some people head for planes, some stay behind with the intent to get there on their own when they're ready. Others go home to visit family, just so they can stay out of that cramped space for a few nights. 

Vic thought about going home. Tony has been planning a beach party since the very start of Warped - something with a firepit and sunsets and beer, the kind of midsummer party that you talk about all summer. 

In the end, Vic finds himself riding the bus back alone. He doesn't want to go home - the thing with Jeremy has set him off more than he cares to admit, and he can really use the time by himself to get some work done. 

For hours, they drive in silence. 

Vic writes in his notebook until his hand aches and the motion of the vehicle begins to make him feel nauseous. The smaller vans all pull off to the side together to refuel, being less efficient with their smaller tanks than the gigantic buses accompanying some of the bands on the tour. 

Stretching his legs is the highlight of his day. There's a larger van in the lot, but he thinks nothing of it until he notices the blond man leaning against it, clutching a paper bag in his hand in that entirely too conspicuous way. 

But the tattooed man doesn't appear to care. 

He watches the buses and the vans with a barely disguised look of amusement on his face, as though it's a private parade. A spectacle put on just for him. 

"Taking a break?" Vic calls, betraying himself with a small smile. 

Craig's lips split in a grin that you would swear is a sunbeam. "Open containers, you know," he replies, wrinkling his nose and glaring down at the bag in his hand. 

"Open containers," he agrees. 

The driver of Pierce the Veil's van leaves the station and heads to the pumps. It'll be a few minutes while he works on filling the tank.

Without asking, Vic takes the bag out of Craig's hand. He relaxes, leaning his back against the van and tilting the bag to his lips. The liquor burns so badly on the way down that he can't place what it is. That it burns like pure fire is all he knows.

His eyes tear up.

Craig laughs and takes it back. 

"What are you doing here?" Vic asks, lifting a hand to wipe his eyes clear. "Don't you have somewhere to be?" 

The blond shrugs. "Sure, yeah. But don't you?" 

Tony hadn't been quiet about their plans, no one had. Vic doesn't answer, not directly, just like he hadn't when the band had wanted to know why he was deciding to stay. "I like the ride. Inspiring." 

"We all have somewhere to be. We'll get where we're meant to." This is the same man that can sass anyone and everyone up on his state with an attitude that doesn't give a damn, but he rattles words off like proverbs he's memorized. 

Vic can hear sincerity in his this, even though Craig tries to laugh it off on the rim of his bottle. Craig tries to laugh a lot of things off on bottle rims, he notices. 

So he takes the bag again. 

"Come with me. Let's talk." 

So they do, leaving the bottle behind.