we'll be home soon
title we'll be home soon
pairing cameron liddell/sam bettley
word count 1,619
rating pg
so hey, it's really weird writing RPF about people you know. not that i'm like, super tight with AA or anything but cameron and i are on pretty much first name basis and i've met them quite a few times now and this was altogether bizarre. that said, this is really more my invention of their personalities than their actual ones, because it felt less weird to write that way. and um, you know, completely un beta'd because i don't have a beta (interested? comment/message. please. i cannot handle big bang without a beta!) and i don't even know if i like this but i felt like writing it, so here goes. whatever works, right? i guess? jajajajaja i'll stop babbling now. FIC.
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The venue is small and there’s hardly a crowd when Ben starts hopping up and down a little and then, in a moment of pure ridiculousness, hops around in a circle and pounds them all on the back. Cameron snorts and tightens his grip on his guitar, feeling the strings indent the flesh of his palm. He wonders how long the marks will last.
“Since when do you do that?”
Ben shrugs. “First show. New traditions and all that shit!”
They’re all a little nervous- or, in Danny’s case, Cameron knows, a lot nervous- before they step out on stage. And logically, Cameron knows it shouldn’t be a big deal. They’re a nobody band, even if they are out with A Static Lullaby. They’ve never played in the states before. There’s basically nobody in the pit, anyway, and he still feels like he might throw up at any moment. He sees Danny take a long swig of something right before they walk out, but he doesn’t say anything because he kind of feels like doing the same.
Cam is idly trying to pluck out chords as Danny steps up to the microphone and screams “Hello, Chicago!” It isn’t until he looks over at Sam that Cam can relax enough to actually produce notes. The bassist is already picking out notes, setting up their first song, his head back, tonguing his lip ring. He looks, despite the nerves Cam knows he has, like he’s having a good time.
Cam doesn’t smile when he looks out at the crowd, right before they launch into their first song, but he doesn’t throw up, either.
---
“Hey, were you nervous?”
They’re sitting in Ben’s basement, just Cam and Sam, with guitars on their laps but not plugged in. They’re the only two up before noon, Cam supposes, because Ben’s infamous for sleeping in, James finally got to see his girlfriend the night before, and Danny, well. Cam’s pretty sure Danny’s either still drunk or sleeping off a serious hangover.
“Huh? Nervous when?” Sam plays a few arpeggios and then morphs into a minor version of the Jeopardy theme song. Cam elbows him, not gently.
“That first show, Chicago? I dunno, man, I just remember looking over at you and y’looked so relaxed, I couldn’t figure it out,” Cam shrugged.
Both of them startle a little bit when the basement door bangs open and Ben comes stumbling down the stairs, his pajama pants hanging low on his skinny hips and his hair a right mess. He’s out of breath and absolutely bursting at the seams.
“You’ll never guess who just called!”
---
Going out on tour with Alesana is a little surreal, Cam will admit. They’re playing bigger venues now, and the lights are brighter on each stage. What’s even stranger is that a few kids at each show actually seem to know who they are.
They line up behind screens now, screens with giant ‘A’s on them, and right before they kick the screens to the side, Cam looks over at Sam, who rolls his neck, adjusts the strap on his bass, and grins.
This time, when Cam looks out at the considerably larger crowd, he does smile.
---
Bus rides are long and cramped, and Cam likes them best when everyone else is asleep and he and Sam put the seat down and sprawl in the back, talking or drinking and messing around.
“Why d’you play with your right hand?” Sam asks one night, taking a swing of beer. Cam laughs.
“Y’ever heard me play with my left? Serious shit, that,” he says. Sam takes the guitar out of his hands and flips it around.
“Try?”
It’s stupid, Cam knows- he doesn’t have to, Sam would never be mad at him for not- but it’s just this thing, he has. This stupid thing where he can’t say no to Sam. He doesn’t mind, not most of the time, although he knows he can never let Danny and James find out, God knows what would happen then. He’s pretty sure Ben’s already figured it out, but that’s just because Ben’s Ben, and he would never use it against sam, anyway, so as long as it’s kept unspoken, Cam doesn’t mind.
So he does. He puts his left hand on the guitar strings and presses them down, awkwardly, uncomfortable. He laughs a little, fumbling to pluck at the strings, and the sound that results is strangled and rather awful. He’s glad the guitar’s unplugged, that they’re just in the back of the van and the rest of the guys are asleep, that nobody can see this except Sam, who asked for it anyway and wouldn’t mind, regardless, Cam knows. Sam’s like that.
“That is shit, man, bend your fingers,” Sam instructs. Cam looks up and Sam’s eyes are wide, from booze or exhaustion or something else, Cam doesn’t know. Sam reaches out and prods at Cam’s long, skinny fingers until they arch, and then Sam picks them up and drops them in the proper places for an F chord. Cam keeps looking at him, tired and curious and liking the feel of Sam’s calluses against his own fingers. He nods slightly, bites his lip, and Sam takes his other hand and places it over Cam’s left, and together they strum the guitar gently, playing the chord a few times.
“See, better this way,” Sam says.
The van hits a bump in the road then, and Cameron pitches forward and goes sprawling face first towards Sam. He lands on his elbow, the guitar trapped beneath his belly and his face pressed into Sam’s shoulder. “Sorry,” he grunts, picking himself up a bit and setting the guitar to the side.
“’S okay,” Sam tells him, and Cameron nods.
They fall asleep like that, some time later, the guitar tucked next to Cameron’s back and Cameron himself tucked into Sam’s side. He wakes up to Ben taking a picture of them on his phone and laughing silently, so Cam flips him the bird and goes back to sleep, content to doze until they get to the next venue.
He likes touring, sometimes.
---
Cam gets irrationally jealous when Devin Oliver starts hanging out in the van a lot, bumming smokes from Sam and dragging the bassist on stage to join I See Stars for a song every few sets. It’s stupid, he knows it is, because- because it’s not like he and Sam are anything other than best friends, bandmates.
“Y’could just talk to him, know that?”
Ben sidles up to him as they stand backstage, sweaty and tired and more than a little bit disgusting.
“I could,” Cam agrees. “But that would sort of imply that I have something to say, wouldn’t it, now?”
He thinks to himself later that even if he’s lost Cam to Devin Oliver’s wily grasp (which, really, he knows isn’t fair, Devin’s a nice kid), he can at least still make Ben laugh.
---
They have two days off in the middle of the tour. Danny, predictably, gets shitfaced and goes MIA. Cameron figures he’s with one of the merch girls and doesn’t worry too much. He does glare daggers at Ben when he casually suggests that Sam and Cameron should just wander around New York a little, because they’re the only two who haven’t so far. Cam argues that Danny’s various walks of shame do not count as exploring New York, but it only earns him a snigger and a hearty shove out of the van.
So they jam their hands into their pockets and wander.
Cameron likes the city, weirdly enough. He likes how dirty it is, how little he feels. He likes how wide some streets are and how narrow others are in comparison. He likes that they get crepes at a hole in the wall place and Sam gets chocolate all over his hands and instead of wiping it on a napkin, he smears it all over Cam’s face.
He likes that he doesn’t even have to say anything, but somehow when they’re finding their way back to the van, Sam reaches over and links their fingers together.
---
“Don’t fuck it up,” is what Matt Good tells Cameron one night in April.
---
They don’t tell anyone, not really. Ben already knows, but Ben’s known for as long as Cameron has, so he doesn’t mind. They tell their parents, because they can’t think of a reason not to. Cameron thinks James figures it out by the end of the last tour, when they’re packing up and Sam realizes he has more of Cameron’s clothes in his bag than his own, and proceeds to throw them all at a helplessly laughing Cameron. Danny remains pretty oblivious, and Cam isn’t sure how he feels about that, but-
It’s okay, because they figure, everyone else can find out for themselves, just the way they did.
And Danny does figure it out, one night, when they’re back in England, just jamming a little before they have to get in the studio, and Cam plays for a little bit with his left hand.
“Since when do you do that?”
Cam shrugs. “Sam taught me.”
Danny looks between the two of them for a long moment, and then puts his hands in his pockets and shrugs. “Oh.”
Which, all things considered, is a good enough way to start recording the new record, full disclosure and all. Cam shoots a glance at Sam, who grins and licks his lip ring, and then at Ben, who’s trying not to pick at his new tattoo, and James just sits behind his drum kit and shrugs in Danny’s direction, and Cam knows- they’re gonna be okay.
pairing cameron liddell/sam bettley
word count 1,619
rating pg
so hey, it's really weird writing RPF about people you know. not that i'm like, super tight with AA or anything but cameron and i are on pretty much first name basis and i've met them quite a few times now and this was altogether bizarre. that said, this is really more my invention of their personalities than their actual ones, because it felt less weird to write that way. and um, you know, completely un beta'd because i don't have a beta (interested? comment/message. please. i cannot handle big bang without a beta!) and i don't even know if i like this but i felt like writing it, so here goes. whatever works, right? i guess? jajajajaja i'll stop babbling now. FIC.
--------
The venue is small and there’s hardly a crowd when Ben starts hopping up and down a little and then, in a moment of pure ridiculousness, hops around in a circle and pounds them all on the back. Cameron snorts and tightens his grip on his guitar, feeling the strings indent the flesh of his palm. He wonders how long the marks will last.
“Since when do you do that?”
Ben shrugs. “First show. New traditions and all that shit!”
They’re all a little nervous- or, in Danny’s case, Cameron knows, a lot nervous- before they step out on stage. And logically, Cameron knows it shouldn’t be a big deal. They’re a nobody band, even if they are out with A Static Lullaby. They’ve never played in the states before. There’s basically nobody in the pit, anyway, and he still feels like he might throw up at any moment. He sees Danny take a long swig of something right before they walk out, but he doesn’t say anything because he kind of feels like doing the same.
Cam is idly trying to pluck out chords as Danny steps up to the microphone and screams “Hello, Chicago!” It isn’t until he looks over at Sam that Cam can relax enough to actually produce notes. The bassist is already picking out notes, setting up their first song, his head back, tonguing his lip ring. He looks, despite the nerves Cam knows he has, like he’s having a good time.
Cam doesn’t smile when he looks out at the crowd, right before they launch into their first song, but he doesn’t throw up, either.
---
“Hey, were you nervous?”
They’re sitting in Ben’s basement, just Cam and Sam, with guitars on their laps but not plugged in. They’re the only two up before noon, Cam supposes, because Ben’s infamous for sleeping in, James finally got to see his girlfriend the night before, and Danny, well. Cam’s pretty sure Danny’s either still drunk or sleeping off a serious hangover.
“Huh? Nervous when?” Sam plays a few arpeggios and then morphs into a minor version of the Jeopardy theme song. Cam elbows him, not gently.
“That first show, Chicago? I dunno, man, I just remember looking over at you and y’looked so relaxed, I couldn’t figure it out,” Cam shrugged.
Both of them startle a little bit when the basement door bangs open and Ben comes stumbling down the stairs, his pajama pants hanging low on his skinny hips and his hair a right mess. He’s out of breath and absolutely bursting at the seams.
“You’ll never guess who just called!”
---
Going out on tour with Alesana is a little surreal, Cam will admit. They’re playing bigger venues now, and the lights are brighter on each stage. What’s even stranger is that a few kids at each show actually seem to know who they are.
They line up behind screens now, screens with giant ‘A’s on them, and right before they kick the screens to the side, Cam looks over at Sam, who rolls his neck, adjusts the strap on his bass, and grins.
This time, when Cam looks out at the considerably larger crowd, he does smile.
---
Bus rides are long and cramped, and Cam likes them best when everyone else is asleep and he and Sam put the seat down and sprawl in the back, talking or drinking and messing around.
“Why d’you play with your right hand?” Sam asks one night, taking a swing of beer. Cam laughs.
“Y’ever heard me play with my left? Serious shit, that,” he says. Sam takes the guitar out of his hands and flips it around.
“Try?”
It’s stupid, Cam knows- he doesn’t have to, Sam would never be mad at him for not- but it’s just this thing, he has. This stupid thing where he can’t say no to Sam. He doesn’t mind, not most of the time, although he knows he can never let Danny and James find out, God knows what would happen then. He’s pretty sure Ben’s already figured it out, but that’s just because Ben’s Ben, and he would never use it against sam, anyway, so as long as it’s kept unspoken, Cam doesn’t mind.
So he does. He puts his left hand on the guitar strings and presses them down, awkwardly, uncomfortable. He laughs a little, fumbling to pluck at the strings, and the sound that results is strangled and rather awful. He’s glad the guitar’s unplugged, that they’re just in the back of the van and the rest of the guys are asleep, that nobody can see this except Sam, who asked for it anyway and wouldn’t mind, regardless, Cam knows. Sam’s like that.
“That is shit, man, bend your fingers,” Sam instructs. Cam looks up and Sam’s eyes are wide, from booze or exhaustion or something else, Cam doesn’t know. Sam reaches out and prods at Cam’s long, skinny fingers until they arch, and then Sam picks them up and drops them in the proper places for an F chord. Cam keeps looking at him, tired and curious and liking the feel of Sam’s calluses against his own fingers. He nods slightly, bites his lip, and Sam takes his other hand and places it over Cam’s left, and together they strum the guitar gently, playing the chord a few times.
“See, better this way,” Sam says.
The van hits a bump in the road then, and Cameron pitches forward and goes sprawling face first towards Sam. He lands on his elbow, the guitar trapped beneath his belly and his face pressed into Sam’s shoulder. “Sorry,” he grunts, picking himself up a bit and setting the guitar to the side.
“’S okay,” Sam tells him, and Cameron nods.
They fall asleep like that, some time later, the guitar tucked next to Cameron’s back and Cameron himself tucked into Sam’s side. He wakes up to Ben taking a picture of them on his phone and laughing silently, so Cam flips him the bird and goes back to sleep, content to doze until they get to the next venue.
He likes touring, sometimes.
---
Cam gets irrationally jealous when Devin Oliver starts hanging out in the van a lot, bumming smokes from Sam and dragging the bassist on stage to join I See Stars for a song every few sets. It’s stupid, he knows it is, because- because it’s not like he and Sam are anything other than best friends, bandmates.
“Y’could just talk to him, know that?”
Ben sidles up to him as they stand backstage, sweaty and tired and more than a little bit disgusting.
“I could,” Cam agrees. “But that would sort of imply that I have something to say, wouldn’t it, now?”
He thinks to himself later that even if he’s lost Cam to Devin Oliver’s wily grasp (which, really, he knows isn’t fair, Devin’s a nice kid), he can at least still make Ben laugh.
---
They have two days off in the middle of the tour. Danny, predictably, gets shitfaced and goes MIA. Cameron figures he’s with one of the merch girls and doesn’t worry too much. He does glare daggers at Ben when he casually suggests that Sam and Cameron should just wander around New York a little, because they’re the only two who haven’t so far. Cam argues that Danny’s various walks of shame do not count as exploring New York, but it only earns him a snigger and a hearty shove out of the van.
So they jam their hands into their pockets and wander.
Cameron likes the city, weirdly enough. He likes how dirty it is, how little he feels. He likes how wide some streets are and how narrow others are in comparison. He likes that they get crepes at a hole in the wall place and Sam gets chocolate all over his hands and instead of wiping it on a napkin, he smears it all over Cam’s face.
He likes that he doesn’t even have to say anything, but somehow when they’re finding their way back to the van, Sam reaches over and links their fingers together.
---
“Don’t fuck it up,” is what Matt Good tells Cameron one night in April.
---
They don’t tell anyone, not really. Ben already knows, but Ben’s known for as long as Cameron has, so he doesn’t mind. They tell their parents, because they can’t think of a reason not to. Cameron thinks James figures it out by the end of the last tour, when they’re packing up and Sam realizes he has more of Cameron’s clothes in his bag than his own, and proceeds to throw them all at a helplessly laughing Cameron. Danny remains pretty oblivious, and Cam isn’t sure how he feels about that, but-
It’s okay, because they figure, everyone else can find out for themselves, just the way they did.
And Danny does figure it out, one night, when they’re back in England, just jamming a little before they have to get in the studio, and Cam plays for a little bit with his left hand.
“Since when do you do that?”
Cam shrugs. “Sam taught me.”
Danny looks between the two of them for a long moment, and then puts his hands in his pockets and shrugs. “Oh.”
Which, all things considered, is a good enough way to start recording the new record, full disclosure and all. Cam shoots a glance at Sam, who grins and licks his lip ring, and then at Ben, who’s trying not to pick at his new tattoo, and James just sits behind his drum kit and shrugs in Danny’s direction, and Cam knows- they’re gonna be okay.