not falling apart ≫ fob + 5sos

( nineteen ) amethyst

"It still isn't fixed?" Joe spoke, shock evident in his features. The short, pudgy driver shook his head, wiping his hands on a previously white cloth.

"It needs a new spark plug, we can't fix it until the next stop."

Pete stepped forward, his previously wet hoodie now dry. "Can't you just call in a rental bus or something? There isn't enough bunks on the other bus for us to all sleep comfortably."

The driver shook his head once again. "It's really not my problem, but some of you will have to share or sleep on the floor."

"You swear there is nothing that can be done to fix this before we head out?" Andy questioned, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, the lenses scratched.

"'Fraid not. I'm terribly sorry, but the soonest we can get you on different buses again is when we reach the next major town."

The driver decided to no longer argue with us as he walked away with Pete glaring at his back.

"Don't tell me-" Patrick snipped.

"We have to be bunkies with the tweens for a night." I muttered.

Petra glared at me, refusing to uncover her arms, which were pale as can be as if they never saw the sun. She may be a year older than me, but she definitely didn't act like it.

Her brother still had his arm wrapped around her although she no longer needed the extra support. The mob was gone.

Patrick finally made his own way back, but he was clearly quite shaken up too.

"Aw, boys! Hear the news?" Pete spoke up, catching Calum's attention, "you get to room with us for an entire night!"

A groan escaped Calum's lips while Ashton yelled very loud, showing off his disapproval.

"We can handle it for one night," I heard Luke mutter to Petra. He seemed to want to convince himself more than Petra.

Michael's arm was no longer around Petra's small frame. In its place was Luke's arm.

"Get what you need for a night," Patrick told the band and I, walking up the steps into the bus.

I didn't really need much. Just a pair of clothes for tomorrow, my hairbrush, and toothbrush.

I made my way back towards the bunk area and I was surprised to see Pete Wentz shoving most of his stuff out of his bunk and into a black duffel bag.

"Do you really need that much stuff?" I asked him, quietly.

His head shot up in surprise. "Oh, it's you." He turned his body back to the bag. "And yes, I do need this much stuff. As you have noticed, I don't sleep."

"Doesn't mean you need to pack everything you own." I responded, climbing up the ladder to my bunk above his. I yanked my charger from the wall, dropping it into a white drawstring bag, the outside baring the logo of twenty one pilots in red.

"Yes, it does," he responded. "I need to somehow occupy my brain and I do that by using everything that I'm shoving in this bag, so please don't question me, please."

"Okay."

Sticking my hand under my pillow, I fished out a black sweatshirt, slipping it over my head to where it fit snugly around my frame.

"I still never believe you're his sister," Pete said, pointing to the hoodie I wore, which read TROHMAN across the back in bold white letters.

"Well, Peter," I said, smirking. "I am and that girl you seem obsessed with is still Michael Clifford's sister."