[Bob Morris/Jon Walker] Part Time Lovers [& Greta Salpeter] And Full Time Friends [standalone]
Title: Part Time Lovers & Full Time Friends.
Author: Me [ shattered_ink ]
Rated: PG-13 - Moderate swearing. Like, several uses of the f-bomb. And innuendo from Spencer.
Summary: Friendship - with benefits or without - has never been so confusing.
Disclaimer: I do not own Bob or Greta or The Hush Sound. I do not own Spencer, Brendon, Ryan, Jon, Zach, or Panic at the Disco. This didn't happen. The title is from Anyone Else But You ( original by the Moldy Peaches, cover by Michael Cera & Ellen Page ) and that is also the inspiration for this story. ( The monkey-shirt and some lines are thanks to the song. You'll see what I mean. )
A/N: This was requested by xmexandxyoux and I hope to God I didn't fail epically on this. Like I said, it was inspired by Anyone Else But You. & I have nothing clever to say except PLEASE READ KTHXBAI. :] ( And I'll be posting another fic either later today or really soon. It will be different. And it will be weird. ) Back to NaNoWriMo.
“For the last effing time,” Bob said, pounding on the car roof for emphasis, “I’m not jealous.”
Greta smiled. “Of course you’re not. Now be a dear and fetch my luggage.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m on it. Holy fuckshit, your bag is pregnant.” He heaved the suitcase out of the backseat, huffing as it hit the ground with a thud. “Now,” he panted. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t you a little too old to be having play-dates with your boyfriends?”
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
“Of course. Because it’s not like every time we see Panic at the Disco, all you see is Jon.”
“Not true.”
“Then explain this to me: The other day, I called Spencer up like, ‘Hey, Spencer, what’s Jon doing?’ and Spencer was all like, ‘Greta.’ I mean, what’s up with that?”
Greta handed him a balled-up pair of socks that had fallen from her bag. “Clean socks,” she said. “You know where to shove them.”
“Indeed, I do.” He flashed her a wicked grin. “Well, here’s your bag. Give your boyfriend lots of hugs and kisses for me, okay? Like, seriously. Leap on top of him and pin him down and suck his effing face off, all right?”
“Why? So you never have to see it again?” Greta laughed. “It’s all right, Bob. You don’t have to hide it. You’re passionately in love with me and the thought of another man infuriates the hell out of you. You’d do anything to win my heart, and it hurts you to know that it already belongs to Jon. Am I right or am I right?”
“How about: None of the Above?” He snorted. “What happens in their tour bus stays in their tour bus. Just tell Brendon and his lips that Bob says hi.” He kissed her on the forehead in the shadow of the train. “And Greta? Try not to miss me too much.”
“Trust me,” she snickered, checking the zippers on her luggage one last time. “I won’t.”
The guys were getting ready for an interview when she stepped in - which meant that Brendon was yodeling while attempting to make a turban out of the towels someone had set up backstage. Zach and Ryan watched him in fascinated silence, and Spencer was half-asleep on a couch. Jon noticed her first, his face lighting up like Times Square in the middle of December. “Hey, moon,” he said with a timid smile. Brendon chimed in with a beautifully sung, “HEY MOON,” before he returned to his yodeling.
“Hey, Greta,” Ryan said. “What’re you doing here?”
Spencer coughed: “Jon.”
Both Jon and Greta pretended not to hear him. “I invited her,” Jon explained. “I thought I told you guys about it. Like, last week?”
Ryan shook his head. “Nope. But you did tell us about how your left thumb is slightly larger than your right thumb.”
“Oh. Well, it is, isn’t it? Anyway, Greta’s going to be hanging with us for a while. So. Yeah.” He took a seat, patting the space beside him for Greta.
“Hold up.” Ryan frowned. “How long is a while?”
“As long as it takes for them to break the bed.”
“Shut up, Spencer,” Jon said. “Respect your elders.”
“I won’t stay long,” Greta said. “I don’t want to mess up the tour or whatever.”
“You’re not messing anything up,” he insisted. “I like it when you’re here. You make me happy.”
“Oh God, they’re getting mushy.” Spencer cringed. “What time does the interview start?”
“About two minutes,” Zach said, checking his watch, “so get ready. Brendon, what the hell is that?”
“A diaper.”
“Please. Put your clothes back on.” Jon shielded Greta’s eyes. “For the lady’s sake.”
They all bounded out of the radio station into the warm light and cool breeze of a typical autumn afternoon. Jon caught up to Greta, beaming as he took her hand. “Interviews seem longer when I’m waiting to see you,” he said. Then he flinched and added, “That was the most clever thing I could think of to tell you. I hope it wasn’t as cheesy as it sounded.”
She faked a pout. “I’m sorry. But it was.”
“I know.” He laughed. “But it was supposed to lead into me asking you to this picnic tonight. Which you should definitely go to, because it’s free and it’s going to be lots of fun. And also, there will be cake.”
“I’m in. But only for the cake.”
By the time they got back to the bus, the sky was a splattering of orange and red and lavender; Greta yawned.
“Go ahead,” Jon said. “Get a good nap in. The picnic will keep you up all night.”
“And the noises coming from Jon’s bunk will keep the rest of us up.”
“Shut. UP. Spencer.”
“Remember kids: no glove, no love.”
Greta shook her head, laughing as she climbed into a bunk. The numbers on the clocked ticked through hour after hour, minute after minute, until - at precisely 7:43 PM - Ryan shook her awake.
“Rise and shine.”
“Mmmfghwhat?”
“Wake up. Someone’s here to see you.”
“What? Who?”
“Just wake up,” he said, leaving her to get dressed. She threw on a yellow shirt and some slacks and was still sliding her foot into a sneaker when she hopped out of the bus and saw Bob standing there: his hands in his pockets, the frowning-monkey shirt on his back, and a tight smile on his face. He waved. “Hey.”
“Hey,” was her quizzical reply.
“Give us a minute?” Bob said to the guys. “This - this is gonna be hard to explain.”
“Look. I thought you forgot something, so I showed up to bring it to you.”
“What is it?”
“I don’t know. I forgot.”
Greta threw up her hands. “Well, that’s helpful. How are you going to get home?”
He bit his lip. “Well, I was hoping - maybe I could stay. And we could go back together.”
She didn’t respond. Her mind wasn’t coming up with a good enough reason for him not to stay other than BECAUSE OF JON, DUH. “There’s a picnic,” she heard herself telling him instead. “It’s in about fifteen minutes, so if you want to go -”
“Wait. Wait, wait, wait.” He held up a hand. “The Autumn Festival Picnic? Let me guess: Jon invited you.”
“Well - yes. But what does that -”
The sound that came from him then was a cross between growling and sobbing, with a little bit of pig-squealing thrown in for good measure. “OH MY GOD GRETA HOW COULD YOU FALL FOR THAT?" he said. "You’re aware that it’s a couples-only picnic, right? You are fully aware that this week is the fucking Autumn Festival and that you can’t go to the fucking Autumn Festival Picnic unless you have a fucking date, right? AND YOU’RE AWARE THAT YOU HAVE WILLINGLY AGREED TO BE HIS FUCKING DATE, RIGHT?”
She frowned. “I wasn’t aware of that, no. But thanks for pointing it out.”
He put his hands over his eyes and counted to one hundred; she could hear his deep inhales and sharp exhales as he tried to relax. “Greta,” he started again. “You’re smart, and I know you know the real reason I came all the way back out here, so I’m gonna ask you flat out: do you love him?”
And the question was a hard slap in the face - not because it was insulting or rude or anything. It was more like she didn’t know the answer, that both Yes and No were fighting to spill out of her mouth and she had no idea which one would triumph. So she bit her lip and sealed both answers in.
“It’s a simple question,” Bob prodded, but she cut in with, “Why does it even matter to you?”
“Because.” He shrugged. “You’re my best friend. We started a band together. He’s got his band, his friends, nothing to lose. I’ve got you. I’ve got everything.”
“Don’t ask me to choose.”
“I’m not,” he said, “because it looks like you’ve already made up your mind.”
“Melodrama, Bob. You have it.”
“Whatever.” He pointed to the frowning monkey on the back of his shirt - which he’d lovingly named Mr. Dude. “You tore out Mr. Dude’s heart,” Bob said. “He’s going to help me freeload out of Panic’s fridge now.” And as Bob and Mr. Dude stomped off, Greta had the feeling that she’d broken something - snapped it and twisted it and bent it all out of shape - and she didn’t quite know how to fix it.
“Are you sure he’s all right? Because he was freeloading pretty hard when we left.” Jon glanced over his shoulder again, as though he expected to see Bob and his monkey shirt racing to catch up to them and partake in the free cake. Some part of Greta was hoping to click her heels and see the same thing.
“I don’t know what’s up with him,” she said - but that was a semi-lie. He was being Bob: Seeker of Attention. He wasn’t seething or upset; he wanted a pat on the head and some chew toys.
But then again: who would miss a train home for a few seconds of attention?
“Can I be honest with you?” Jon said. He scratched his chin and a spot behind his ear and a corner of his eyebrow before he went on. “I feel like - like he - like you - um. Do you - do you love him?”
There it was again; that question. Except this time, the answer was in her head and out of her mouth before she could talk around it or avoid it all together. “Yeah,” she said. “I do.”
He squinted at his hands, turning them over as though he didn’t know what else to do with them. “Yeah,” he sighed. “I thought so. But I was hoping - I don’t know.”
“I know.” She didn’t look at him, instead focusing on the checkered pattern of the picnic blanket beneath them, on the untouched slices of cake between them, on the people running through the park and laughing around them.
“Can I -” Jon started, but he shook his head and leaned in. Uncertain, nervous, and a little bit broken, he kissed her. And he knew it wouldn’t make a difference but he had to try. He had to know for sure.
When he said, “I’ll miss you,” she was already saying, “Goodbye.” She stood and brushed the grass from her clothes, took a deep breath and started walking, and each step she took was closing the space between her and the tour bus, her and Mr. Dude, her and Bob.
Bob was pouring a glass of ginger ale - which was weird, since he normally wouldn’t go near ginger ale unless he was sick. “Hey, moon,” Greta said, and then she wanted to smack herself. She and Bob were in The Hush Sound, not Panic at the Disco. But she couldn’t help feeling that - in her heart, at least - the two would be forever intertwined.
Bob didn’t look at her when he asked, “How was the picnic?”
“Fine,” she said. “There was cake.”
“Hmm? What kind of cake?”
“Chocolate with pink frosting.”
“Oh. They should’ve had banana.”
“Yeah. Yeah, with the yellow pineapple frosting and -”
“A whole glob of vanilla ice cream on top?” Bob smiled to himself at the thought of such a perfect cake. “Yeah, I would own that cake. Like, OWN it.” Then his wistful smile disappeared as quickly as it had come. “So who died?” he asked.
“Wait, what?”
“You’re here. Brendon, his lips, and his friends aren’t. So who died? Or better yet, who got dumped?”
Greta sighed. “Jon. Me. Well, it was a mutual decision.”
“You dumped his ass.”
“That too.”
He grinned. “Good. I mean, not good for him, but good for me. Because I was having nightmares, babe. Nightmares involving Jon-and-Greta babies running around, singing and playing bass and wearing sandals in below-zero-degree weather.” He shuddered. “Not good, man. Not good.”
“Those,” she said, “would be some sexy babies.”
“Ours would be sexier.” He poured her a glass of ginger ale, raised his for a toast. “But I guess we’ll never know, huh?”
She smiled, nodding as she took a sip, the fizz-bubbles tickling her lips. “Never say never,” she said. “Weird stuff happens all the time. We make choices we said we’d never make. I don’t think I’ll ever understand what happened tonight, why you came back or why I came back or any of it.”
“Doesn’t matter why,” he said, starry-eyed. “It just matters that we’re here. And that we’re friends. And that you dumped his ass.”
Author: Me [ shattered_ink ]
Rated: PG-13 - Moderate swearing. Like, several uses of the f-bomb. And innuendo from Spencer.
Summary: Friendship - with benefits or without - has never been so confusing.
Disclaimer: I do not own Bob or Greta or The Hush Sound. I do not own Spencer, Brendon, Ryan, Jon, Zach, or Panic at the Disco. This didn't happen. The title is from Anyone Else But You ( original by the Moldy Peaches, cover by Michael Cera & Ellen Page ) and that is also the inspiration for this story. ( The monkey-shirt and some lines are thanks to the song. You'll see what I mean. )
A/N: This was requested by xmexandxyoux and I hope to God I didn't fail epically on this. Like I said, it was inspired by Anyone Else But You. & I have nothing clever to say except PLEASE READ KTHXBAI. :] ( And I'll be posting another fic either later today or really soon. It will be different. And it will be weird. ) Back to NaNoWriMo.
“For the last effing time,” Bob said, pounding on the car roof for emphasis, “I’m not jealous.”
Greta smiled. “Of course you’re not. Now be a dear and fetch my luggage.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m on it. Holy fuckshit, your bag is pregnant.” He heaved the suitcase out of the backseat, huffing as it hit the ground with a thud. “Now,” he panted. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t you a little too old to be having play-dates with your boyfriends?”
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
“Of course. Because it’s not like every time we see Panic at the Disco, all you see is Jon.”
“Not true.”
“Then explain this to me: The other day, I called Spencer up like, ‘Hey, Spencer, what’s Jon doing?’ and Spencer was all like, ‘Greta.’ I mean, what’s up with that?”
Greta handed him a balled-up pair of socks that had fallen from her bag. “Clean socks,” she said. “You know where to shove them.”
“Indeed, I do.” He flashed her a wicked grin. “Well, here’s your bag. Give your boyfriend lots of hugs and kisses for me, okay? Like, seriously. Leap on top of him and pin him down and suck his effing face off, all right?”
“Why? So you never have to see it again?” Greta laughed. “It’s all right, Bob. You don’t have to hide it. You’re passionately in love with me and the thought of another man infuriates the hell out of you. You’d do anything to win my heart, and it hurts you to know that it already belongs to Jon. Am I right or am I right?”
“How about: None of the Above?” He snorted. “What happens in their tour bus stays in their tour bus. Just tell Brendon and his lips that Bob says hi.” He kissed her on the forehead in the shadow of the train. “And Greta? Try not to miss me too much.”
“Trust me,” she snickered, checking the zippers on her luggage one last time. “I won’t.”
The guys were getting ready for an interview when she stepped in - which meant that Brendon was yodeling while attempting to make a turban out of the towels someone had set up backstage. Zach and Ryan watched him in fascinated silence, and Spencer was half-asleep on a couch. Jon noticed her first, his face lighting up like Times Square in the middle of December. “Hey, moon,” he said with a timid smile. Brendon chimed in with a beautifully sung, “HEY MOON,” before he returned to his yodeling.
“Hey, Greta,” Ryan said. “What’re you doing here?”
Spencer coughed: “Jon.”
Both Jon and Greta pretended not to hear him. “I invited her,” Jon explained. “I thought I told you guys about it. Like, last week?”
Ryan shook his head. “Nope. But you did tell us about how your left thumb is slightly larger than your right thumb.”
“Oh. Well, it is, isn’t it? Anyway, Greta’s going to be hanging with us for a while. So. Yeah.” He took a seat, patting the space beside him for Greta.
“Hold up.” Ryan frowned. “How long is a while?”
“As long as it takes for them to break the bed.”
“Shut up, Spencer,” Jon said. “Respect your elders.”
“I won’t stay long,” Greta said. “I don’t want to mess up the tour or whatever.”
“You’re not messing anything up,” he insisted. “I like it when you’re here. You make me happy.”
“Oh God, they’re getting mushy.” Spencer cringed. “What time does the interview start?”
“About two minutes,” Zach said, checking his watch, “so get ready. Brendon, what the hell is that?”
“A diaper.”
“Please. Put your clothes back on.” Jon shielded Greta’s eyes. “For the lady’s sake.”
They all bounded out of the radio station into the warm light and cool breeze of a typical autumn afternoon. Jon caught up to Greta, beaming as he took her hand. “Interviews seem longer when I’m waiting to see you,” he said. Then he flinched and added, “That was the most clever thing I could think of to tell you. I hope it wasn’t as cheesy as it sounded.”
She faked a pout. “I’m sorry. But it was.”
“I know.” He laughed. “But it was supposed to lead into me asking you to this picnic tonight. Which you should definitely go to, because it’s free and it’s going to be lots of fun. And also, there will be cake.”
“I’m in. But only for the cake.”
By the time they got back to the bus, the sky was a splattering of orange and red and lavender; Greta yawned.
“Go ahead,” Jon said. “Get a good nap in. The picnic will keep you up all night.”
“And the noises coming from Jon’s bunk will keep the rest of us up.”
“Shut. UP. Spencer.”
“Remember kids: no glove, no love.”
Greta shook her head, laughing as she climbed into a bunk. The numbers on the clocked ticked through hour after hour, minute after minute, until - at precisely 7:43 PM - Ryan shook her awake.
“Rise and shine.”
“Mmmfghwhat?”
“Wake up. Someone’s here to see you.”
“What? Who?”
“Just wake up,” he said, leaving her to get dressed. She threw on a yellow shirt and some slacks and was still sliding her foot into a sneaker when she hopped out of the bus and saw Bob standing there: his hands in his pockets, the frowning-monkey shirt on his back, and a tight smile on his face. He waved. “Hey.”
“Hey,” was her quizzical reply.
“Give us a minute?” Bob said to the guys. “This - this is gonna be hard to explain.”
“Look. I thought you forgot something, so I showed up to bring it to you.”
“What is it?”
“I don’t know. I forgot.”
Greta threw up her hands. “Well, that’s helpful. How are you going to get home?”
He bit his lip. “Well, I was hoping - maybe I could stay. And we could go back together.”
She didn’t respond. Her mind wasn’t coming up with a good enough reason for him not to stay other than BECAUSE OF JON, DUH. “There’s a picnic,” she heard herself telling him instead. “It’s in about fifteen minutes, so if you want to go -”
“Wait. Wait, wait, wait.” He held up a hand. “The Autumn Festival Picnic? Let me guess: Jon invited you.”
“Well - yes. But what does that -”
The sound that came from him then was a cross between growling and sobbing, with a little bit of pig-squealing thrown in for good measure. “OH MY GOD GRETA HOW COULD YOU FALL FOR THAT?" he said. "You’re aware that it’s a couples-only picnic, right? You are fully aware that this week is the fucking Autumn Festival and that you can’t go to the fucking Autumn Festival Picnic unless you have a fucking date, right? AND YOU’RE AWARE THAT YOU HAVE WILLINGLY AGREED TO BE HIS FUCKING DATE, RIGHT?”
She frowned. “I wasn’t aware of that, no. But thanks for pointing it out.”
He put his hands over his eyes and counted to one hundred; she could hear his deep inhales and sharp exhales as he tried to relax. “Greta,” he started again. “You’re smart, and I know you know the real reason I came all the way back out here, so I’m gonna ask you flat out: do you love him?”
And the question was a hard slap in the face - not because it was insulting or rude or anything. It was more like she didn’t know the answer, that both Yes and No were fighting to spill out of her mouth and she had no idea which one would triumph. So she bit her lip and sealed both answers in.
“It’s a simple question,” Bob prodded, but she cut in with, “Why does it even matter to you?”
“Because.” He shrugged. “You’re my best friend. We started a band together. He’s got his band, his friends, nothing to lose. I’ve got you. I’ve got everything.”
“Don’t ask me to choose.”
“I’m not,” he said, “because it looks like you’ve already made up your mind.”
“Melodrama, Bob. You have it.”
“Whatever.” He pointed to the frowning monkey on the back of his shirt - which he’d lovingly named Mr. Dude. “You tore out Mr. Dude’s heart,” Bob said. “He’s going to help me freeload out of Panic’s fridge now.” And as Bob and Mr. Dude stomped off, Greta had the feeling that she’d broken something - snapped it and twisted it and bent it all out of shape - and she didn’t quite know how to fix it.
“Are you sure he’s all right? Because he was freeloading pretty hard when we left.” Jon glanced over his shoulder again, as though he expected to see Bob and his monkey shirt racing to catch up to them and partake in the free cake. Some part of Greta was hoping to click her heels and see the same thing.
“I don’t know what’s up with him,” she said - but that was a semi-lie. He was being Bob: Seeker of Attention. He wasn’t seething or upset; he wanted a pat on the head and some chew toys.
But then again: who would miss a train home for a few seconds of attention?
“Can I be honest with you?” Jon said. He scratched his chin and a spot behind his ear and a corner of his eyebrow before he went on. “I feel like - like he - like you - um. Do you - do you love him?”
There it was again; that question. Except this time, the answer was in her head and out of her mouth before she could talk around it or avoid it all together. “Yeah,” she said. “I do.”
He squinted at his hands, turning them over as though he didn’t know what else to do with them. “Yeah,” he sighed. “I thought so. But I was hoping - I don’t know.”
“I know.” She didn’t look at him, instead focusing on the checkered pattern of the picnic blanket beneath them, on the untouched slices of cake between them, on the people running through the park and laughing around them.
“Can I -” Jon started, but he shook his head and leaned in. Uncertain, nervous, and a little bit broken, he kissed her. And he knew it wouldn’t make a difference but he had to try. He had to know for sure.
When he said, “I’ll miss you,” she was already saying, “Goodbye.” She stood and brushed the grass from her clothes, took a deep breath and started walking, and each step she took was closing the space between her and the tour bus, her and Mr. Dude, her and Bob.
Bob was pouring a glass of ginger ale - which was weird, since he normally wouldn’t go near ginger ale unless he was sick. “Hey, moon,” Greta said, and then she wanted to smack herself. She and Bob were in The Hush Sound, not Panic at the Disco. But she couldn’t help feeling that - in her heart, at least - the two would be forever intertwined.
Bob didn’t look at her when he asked, “How was the picnic?”
“Fine,” she said. “There was cake.”
“Hmm? What kind of cake?”
“Chocolate with pink frosting.”
“Oh. They should’ve had banana.”
“Yeah. Yeah, with the yellow pineapple frosting and -”
“A whole glob of vanilla ice cream on top?” Bob smiled to himself at the thought of such a perfect cake. “Yeah, I would own that cake. Like, OWN it.” Then his wistful smile disappeared as quickly as it had come. “So who died?” he asked.
“Wait, what?”
“You’re here. Brendon, his lips, and his friends aren’t. So who died? Or better yet, who got dumped?”
Greta sighed. “Jon. Me. Well, it was a mutual decision.”
“You dumped his ass.”
“That too.”
He grinned. “Good. I mean, not good for him, but good for me. Because I was having nightmares, babe. Nightmares involving Jon-and-Greta babies running around, singing and playing bass and wearing sandals in below-zero-degree weather.” He shuddered. “Not good, man. Not good.”
“Those,” she said, “would be some sexy babies.”
“Ours would be sexier.” He poured her a glass of ginger ale, raised his for a toast. “But I guess we’ll never know, huh?”
She smiled, nodding as she took a sip, the fizz-bubbles tickling her lips. “Never say never,” she said. “Weird stuff happens all the time. We make choices we said we’d never make. I don’t think I’ll ever understand what happened tonight, why you came back or why I came back or any of it.”
“Doesn’t matter why,” he said, starry-eyed. “It just matters that we’re here. And that we’re friends. And that you dumped his ass.”