They all slept in the next morning, their bodies subconsciously aware that this was a rare day off and it was time to recharge the batteries. 

Brendon woke up first in his own bunk where Ryan had tucked him before he and Spencer had indulged in one of their late night life-the-universe-and-everything conversations, which had gone on until the early hours.  The slim boy stretched out under the covers and placed his hands behind his head, a smug grin adorning his lips.  Life was absolutely one hundred percent mother fucking perfect. 

Where most people were groggy when they first woke up and took a while to get going, Brendon always jerked awake and was instantly perky, a fact which pissed the hell out of everyone else on tour.  It was nearly one in the afternoon which constituted an extremely indulgent lie-in for the hyperactive singer and he was soon bounding out of bed and pulling on the nearest T-shirt and pair of pants before heading out to cause trouble.

The back of the bus was his first stop, where he was delighted to find Ryan’s baggy and skins still strewn across the couch, several butt-ends lying guiltily in the ashtray that suggested Ryan and Spencer had got seriously deep into it last night.  Brendon sat down and mustered every ounce of control and hand-eye-co-ordination that he could manage, taking his time to roll four perfect joints, one a little longer and more loaded than the others.

By the time he had finished he was positively brimming with excitement and sat back with a triumphant grin on his face admiring his handy work.  True, the couch was now littered with debris and Brendon had managed to get more tobacco on the floor than in the joints but he would worry about that later.  Or better still someone else would.  He was a man with a plan and there was absolutely no way he was taking no for an answer.

He headed back towards the sleeping quarters where Spencer, Jon and Ryan’s bunks where lined up one after another beyond his own.  He sneaked through to the central bunk (Jon’s) and approached the music station opposite the bunk where sleepy-Jon lay snoring.  After a quick flick through Jon’s MP3 selection he found what he was looking for…Bloc Party, The Prayer, the most triphopfuckedupcrazyhappysong Brendon had heard in ages.  Why the fuck did all the best bands come from the UK?  Guess people over there were just way fucking cooler.

Brendon checked that the volume was turned up obscenely loud and pressed play.  The weird clappy-hummy intro began and Brendon began to shake his thing in strange sporadic motions in front of the stereo, his back to Jon, still sleeping in his bunk.  Once the beat kicked in in earnest Brendon heard the sound of angry bodies stirring in bunks and stepped up his moves, pretending not to notice the cries of “Shut the fuck up!”.

“Tonight make me unstoppable and I will charm, I will slice, I will dazzle them with my wit” sang Brendon, raising his arms above his head and doing a side to side jig with his feet that should have looked ridiculous but didn’t.

“Urie you fucking freak, people are trying to fucking sleep!”  Came Jon’s voice, loud and angry over the din.

Brendon turned around and grinned winningly at Jon, whose bleary eyes were barely open.  From his top pocket Brendon produced the first of the joints with a flourish and shimmied his way towards his grumpy friend, who couldn’t help but smile.  Brendon placed the joint neatly between Jon’s lips, still singing along to the lyrics and fixed Jon with his patented just-do-what-I-say-cos-I’m-a-crazy-person smile.  He produced a lighter from fuck knows where and held the flame in front of Jon who leant forward, smiling despite the roll up in between his lips. 

“I can’t help it, Urie,” said Jon after a couple of pulls (only Jon could get away with always calling Brendon ‘Urie’ and managing to make it sound endearing), “I just fucking love you man.”

By the time the track came to an end and the Ipod randomly selected a new song (Burning Benches by Morning Runner – check them out people) Spencer was standing in the entry to Jon’s bunk, wearing only his boxers and clearly attracted by the pungent smell of Amsterdam skunk.

“Did some fucker light a spliff because I just woke up out of the wickedest dream?!”

Out of all of the band members Spencer was by far the campest.  He was certainly not the gayest (Brendon’s hard-on for Ryan could prove that) but there was something comfortably effeminate about his mannerisms.  Brendon sometimes missed female company on tour but ten minutes with Spencer and the feeling passed.

The gentle piano portion of the track came to an abrupt end and the drums kicked in causing Spencer to involuntarily tap out the rhythm on the wall beside him.  Brendon whipped out the second joint, lit it in his own mouth, got down flamboyantly on one knee and offered it up to the drummer.

“Why thank you my good man.”  Spencer remarked in the worst British accent ever, and reached into his pocket for his lighter.  Brendon’s heart leapt out of his stomach a few seconds later when a giggle from behind alerted him to Ryan’s presence.

“Someone really ought to put a leash on you, Brendon.”

Ohgodohgodohgod.

Brendon turned around, the most ridiculous grin on his face, fighting the urge to run in slow motion along the corridor calling ’Ryyyyyyyyyyaaaaaaaaaaaan!’ and flinging himself at the boy like he was on Baywatch.

He settled for fumbling in his pocket for another joint (the super long one made with extra care) and, holding it out in front of him, looked up at the light of his life with puppy dog eyes.  Ryan had put on one of those teeny tiny t-shirts that still hung a little off his body and wore baggy pants which were barely held up by his bony hips, a slither of skin exposed tantalisingly between the two.

He moved forward and took the offering between his fingers, giving Brendon an affectionate smile and rolling his eyes.

Ryan plonked himself down on Jon’s bed and got comfy, snuggling up to the more manly bass player and taking a light from Jon’s half finished joint.  Jon randomly burst out laughing which started everyone off and Spencer flopped down in front of Ryan on the bed, all three of them adjusting until they were a cuddly­-giggly-smoky-mess under the covers, all smiling at Brendon who had retrieved the final spliff from his pocket and lit it for himself, fiddling again through the MP3s to pick the next track (I Will Follow You Into the Dark, Death Cab for Cutie.) 

Brendon mimed the cheerful opening line – “Love of mine, someday you will die…” – into his hand as though it was a microphone before pulling hard on the joint and grinning widely at the Masterpiece he had created.  All three of his favourite people in the whole entire world were laughing and smiling and looking rested in front of him and there was no schedule, no interviews and no torturous meet and greets with teeny fans asking stupid questions to worry them.  

The four friends stayed in Jon’s bunk for most of the day, getting stoned as fuck and laughing their arses off as the music selections got more and more bizarre.  It was amazing the cheesy shit that Jon had loaded on his Ipod. 

By four o’clock Jon was miming ‘I Won’t Say I’m In Love’ from Disney’s Hercules into a hairbrush, while Ryan, Spencer and Brendon, lined up neatly on the edge of the bed, shoop-shooped along and developed an increasingly complicated hand-dancing routine.

No-one selected the next song and so the Ipod (in a stroke of near-human genius) selected Orange Sky by Alexi Murdoch and everyone became instantly chilled.