Tom was starting to get tired. He'd never put much thought into how exhausting concerts could be. Sure, he'd been on stage enough to know that by the end he'd be dripping with sweat. There was a reason bands took small breaks before encores. There were reasons there were drum solos or guest musicians to give them time to rest. There were reasons why the bands tended to take off their shirts and throw them into the audience.

Not just for the girls, though Tom always found it embarrassingly funny whenever the audience would shriek like banshees whenever he or the other guys would even bring their hands close to their shirts. A fake out to wipe their faces clean for a few seconds, showing a sliver of their stomach, was enough to let them go in a feeding frenzy, waving their hands in the air to grab the shirt. Not to mention how many people got into fights as soon as the shirt was lobbed into the crowd. Tom always hoped no one managed to find themselves knocked out or injured in some way over it.

That was nothing compared to being in the audience of a concert. Nothing compared to the energy and swell that came from being around the happiness and excitement of thousands of people directed toward the stage. Different from taking back the energy from the audience, rather than giving it. And Tom was right in the middle of the energetic crowd that jumped, sang, and screamed along to the music that the bands played throughout the music festival.

He'd never been to a music festival before. His anxiety wouldn't give him the opportunity to do it. Too many people, crowds too large, felt that he as suffocating. Danny, James, Matt, and Charlie always said they'd wanted to go to Coachella and it looked like that dream was coming to be a reality soon. Tom simply didn't get it. He was in an area that was far away from the stage, far away from the mosh pit and the area that would have him be pushed, shoved, and practically beaten up to come close to the band. And yet he felt nothing but absolute exhaustion.

His legs were about to give out and when he sat down to take a break, it felt that all eyes were on him. Okay, Danny and Harry looked at him like he was crazy. Dougie, somehow, had gotten enough energy to last him a lifetime, was jumping back and forth and screaming along with Matt, who seemed to have the most energy out of anyone whenever music was involved. Charlie, a bit more chilled out than the others, simply had his hands in his pockets, nodding along to the beat of the song, laughing with James about something every few minutes, shoving each other on the arm. Jacqui and Katy, like Dougie and Matt, were shouting and screaming to the lyrics while jumping around.

The managers stood aside, opting to watch from the audience than from side stage. They, in Tom's honest opinion, looked out of place. Not just as they were older than most of the teen and twenty-year old girls in the audience—he had to admit it seemed to be an even split of guys in the audience as well, but they looked like they worked in the music industry in some way. Every time there was a burst of pyrotechnics or a death-defying jump from Simple Plan or the DarkElements they'd lean to each other and say something while the other two would nod or shake their heads. Dressing up more professionally than the t-shirts and shorts the audience wore added to their displacement.

Tom couldn't hear over the deafening screams around them, but he had the sinking feeling he would be in the gym more in the next couple of days considering how high the guys were able to jump. (And how easily they were jumping off their monitors, over the others on the crowded stage, to the stage floor). He could already see the competitive glint resting in Harry's eyes. It was never something Tom was happy to see, especially when he and the others were the ones to suffer the consequences for it.

And it wasn't that Tom wasn't enjoying the show, he was. He loved watching his friends race back and forth across the stage, working on making the show as good as it could possibly be. (And besides, how many times did you ever see a band share a stage so here were three drummers playing at once? Not even Travis Barker could pull it off). But Tom's entire life and career was on stage. Going to a concert wasn't something he found fun when he played them time and time again. A sense of boredom set in quickly, also aiding in him deciding to sit down. And as crazy of the looks he was getting from his friends, he knew it was something they'd all experienced at one point or another. Maybe not James, Tom thought. I'd love to meet anyone who was as into music as he is. That age old childish joke, "If you love it so much, then why don't you marry it," was something Tom was sure James would do if he had the chance.

If people could marry the Eiffel tower and rollercoasters, then James could marry music.

A smile came to Tom's face. The first one in a while, he realized, that was genuine. And it was all from a stupid joke that, really, only he and his friends would find funny. When was the last time he'd truly smiled? Music used to do it for him. A lot of things used to do that for him. He hadn't been so into music and everything as much lately, which was strange for him. He used to love music more than life itself and while he was excited to see more of the US with their radio tour, being around it so much could easily become a drag.

Tom leaned back in his seat as the stage darkened, waiting for the encore of the festival to start. Something thwacked against the back of his head, making stars explode in front of his face. Tom winced and leaned forward, rubbing the knot that rapidly started to form. He hoped it wasn't someone's fist or foot that had nearly given him a concussion. It was probably the only bad thing about no one in the US really knowing who they were. He could go wherever he wanted without hassle, but he was treated like everyone else. A bowling pin in a crazy crowd of fans.

Tom scowled, letting out a heavy breath. Just had to sit through a few more songs and he was good to go. He winced once more when there was a sudden boom of sound from the audience and stage alike. Did everything have to be so loud?

"How you doin' tonight?" Pierre Bouvier, front man of Simple Plan shouted into the microphone as the two bands started to play the opening intro to a song the crowd clearly knew and loved.

Another roar that made Tom's head nearly split in two.

Riley, who stood by Pierre's side, microphone in hand—having traded out her guitar to Sydney-shook her head. A playfully disappointed pout came to her face—one Tom had seen guys fall over themselves for many times, and added, "Can't hear you; how you all doing tonight?"

An even louder one.

"Let's keep that energy up for this last song." Pierre started to bounce up and down, amping up the crowd. "I hope you all know this one, this is Jet Lag." He punched the air with each downbeat of the opening before bringing the microphone to his mouth to start singing. "What time is it where you are?"

"I miss you more than anything," Riley sang right after.

"Back at home, you feel so far."

"Waiting for the phone to ring."

The two then turned to each other and continued singing in harmony. "It's getting lonely living upside down. I don't even want to be in this town. Trying to figure out the time zone's making me crazy." The beat thrumped in with the rest of the bands' backing vocals as they started into the chorus, the audience jumping up and down with each word.

"You say good morning, when it's midnight. Going out of my head alone in this bed. I wake up, to your sunset, and it's driving me mad Ii miss you so bad and my heart, heart, heart is so jet lagged. Heart, heart, heart is so jet lagged. Heart, heart, heart is so jet lagged. So jet lagged."

Tom rubbed his forehead. He felt a thumb to his side and got ready to yell, he was dead tired of the people behind him constantly pushing and shoving. His retort caught in his throat when he noticed Gen sitting next to him, bringing her foot to her lap, rubbing her ankle.

"You okay?" He asked instead.

Gen didn't respond. She kept her head bowed, deftly running her fingers over her ankle bone, twirling it in a circle. For a moment, Tom felt foolish. Wondered why he thought it was a good idea to even try to start a conversation. Girls weren't foreign to him in any sense, he'd had girlfriends over the years, but not like the one that got away. He was a romantic in every sense of the word—maybe too much so if consistently questioning everything he did when he was around the person he'd broke up with almost eight years before.

His stupidity, however, immediately washed away when he noticed a small, claylike knob in her ear. A ear plug. A very smart decision for someone who was going to be in the audience of a concert. There were those who said they didn't want anything to interfere with them hearing the music, but those people, Tom said, were crazy as they later complained about tinnitus and hearing loss. Nothing was dumb about protecting your hearing, why else did band members wear in-ears on stage other than to hear each other and cancel out the noise of the screaming fans? If anything—and it truly proved how much of a romantic he was—Tom felt more for Gen in that observation alone.

Nevertheless, he reached out and plucked the ear bud from her ear, making her wince at the sudden change in volume, and leaned close to repeat his question, "Are you okay?"

Gen looked confused for a moment, then nodded, noticing his shifted gaze to her ankle. "Just rolled my ankle," she said. She laughed, motioning to the platform sole. "I guess it's not a good idea to wear platforms to a concert."

"You could've been wearing heels," Tom reminded her. He nodded to his left, making Gen lean over, her wavy hair falling over her shoulder as she did so. The two looked over and watched as a pair of girls—who were already tall—seemed to be seconds away from completely falling over. Breaking their ankles, maybe. "I've seen some weird things over the years, but that takes the cake."

Gen tossed her head back in a laugh. A laugh Tom couldn't her over the music. She leaned in, putting her voice close to Tom's ear so that he could hear her. Tingles shot up his arm. How lame. He was like a thirteen-year-old boy again, unsure of what to do the second any girl came around him.

It was times like these Tom wished Carrie was around. Apart from the fact that she knew every little thing that would ever embarrass him and would do so, she was great at calming him down. He knew what it was like for people to hate their siblings. He saw some of his friends from home argue and bicker with them as much as possible. He and Carrie were never like that, they gave little jabs here and there, but they were very close. Probably because they both felt like outcasts, Tom thought.

What eleven, twelve, thirteen-year-old didn't think it was weird that Tom was more into NASA and science and Back to the Future than sports? Truth be told, other than friendly competition, Tom hated sports. He was more of a sensitive soul and loved to learn about life, never understood why people—namely Harry and Danny, and the Jacksons—always felt the need to be best at everything. When it was sports day at school, Tom knew he would never win, couldn't run fast enough, couldn't kick a soccer ball very well, couldn't keep up with cricket, and dreaded it. Carrie was the same, she preferred musicals and theater and acting and was bullied for it as much as Tom was.

They spent many hours of the night, when he lived at home, talking about their hopes, dreams, and everything that came along with it. Carrie teased him mercifully about every girl he was ever into and he found himself moving into the big brother role of protectiveness when she started to date.

If she were here, she'd tell me to stop being such a baby, Tom thought. As shy as Carrie could be, she was at least very forceful when it came to things about her brother than she was about her own life. Maybe because she'd pestered and followed him around so much and determined herself to be an expert on him.

"Not even seeing Harry, Danny, and Dougie charging at your in their skivvies when you were playing in Manchester makes the list?" She teased.

Tom tilted his head back and groaned. They had been on their Wonderland tour, one of the first nights of performing in Manchester, Tom was minding his own business playing She Falls Asleep on the grand piano that had been brought for them on the tour. It was a slower song, a song that would give the audience time to cool down, and for the other boys to take a short break. He was focused on simultaneously watching the audience and his finger placements on the piano keys when he heard loud screams come from the audience.

He could play piano very well, would be the first to admit his own prowess with the instrument. Honestly, it would be the only thing he was comfortable with. What wasn't comfortable was watching Danny, Dougie, and Harry all in their underwear, charging across the stage toward him. His eyes widened in horror once they reached his side of the stage and climbed on top of his piano, striking poses and dramatically reaching out toward him.

At the time, Tom laughed it off. Now he could laugh it off. Once he got off-stage he, wondered how hard he could restrain himself from killing them all. There was nothing more annoying to him than things going wrong when he was trying to entertain. It was why they were specific with some things in their riders, not just for safety, but because he wanted to put on the best show possible.

"Oh, come on." Gen nudged his arm. She continued to lean across the seats toward him. "It's funny!"

"It's funny now, it wasn't funny then."

"It was funny then. You're just a bit of a perfectionist." She crossed her legs at the knee. "Which is okay, but not everything can be perfect." She shrugged, dropping her hands to her lap. "If it was, things would be really boring."

Tom's smile widened. Not that he didn't know before, but he was starting to understand why she had the nickname Gentle. She did a good job of giving calming advice to other people, helping them out when needed, no questions asked. Easily reminded him the things that were more important than

Gen looked a little annoyed, noticing the lights coming up, indicating the show was over. Had they really been talking so long? The sounds of the crowd started to die down and yet none of their group was moving. They were going to go backstage afterwards, didn't need to have any potential fans to recognize them and follow them back there. Gen huffed and shook her head. "And to think, there's going to be a few more weeks of this."

"Yeah, but instead of planes and first class, we'll be on tour buses filled with mess and Dougie's farting," Tom said. He ran a hand through his hair, started to say something else, then stopped. Long strands of hair fell out into his palm from his movement. He stared at them in surprise, it was much more than what would've come out of his brush, wasn't it? Or maybe he was freaking out. It wasn't so much. Couldn't be.

Nevertheless, Tom ran a hand through his hair once more. His eyes widened when just about the same amount of hair came out in his palm. He shook them away before Gen could notice his worries. Yet, Tom immediately felt himself starting to shut down. Darker thoughts coming to mind. It was bad enough he was fat, but to start losing his hair, too. What the hell did he ever do to have so many bad things happen to him at once?

It must've been karma from somewhere. From getting on the boys for their drug use. For stealing that candy when he was a little kid. For pushing Carrie's face in the mud. For sticking frozen marbles in Dougie's bed five nights in a row in retaliation for Dougie placing spiders all in his room. Something. Somewhere was trying to get back at him.

"Lucky for me, I'm going to be on the clean bus," Gen remarked with a laugh. "You have to admit, as soon as it comes to touring, you guys become so sloppy I'm surprised the bus doesn't blow up from the toxic fumes."

"Well, you're welcome to come around and clean it up whenever you want." Tom laughed, leaning out of the way when Gen punched him hard on the arm. She may be Gentle, but her punches were anything but. "I meant if you ever wanted to stay on our bus."

Gen's eyes flashed. "Are you inviting me onto your bus?"

Tom immediately felt himself flush. He gave a nervous laugh, wondering how he was going to work his way through the conversation as smoothly as possible. Smooth was the last thing he was. He was a self-proclaimed nerd and was okay with it. He wasn't ashamed to admit he liked having her around. "If you want," he said. "I'll even give you a tour. From the bunks to the den. It's only two floors so you're getting the special treatment."

Gen laughed. "Does that include all your Harry Potter dolls?"

"I don't have any Harry Potter dolls." Tom paused. "They're Buzz Lightyear." Gen laughed again. Her laughter, compared to everyone else's, was a much softer one. Almost as if she were trying to keep herself from being noticed.

"Even better," Gen remarked. She gently squeezed his knee. "We need to have someone around, ready and willing to take on the stars." She moved a hand beside her mouth and added not so quietly, "Out of everyone, my money's on you."

"Yeah, like I can take them all in a fight." Tom pretended to punch the air with his fists. He pretended to pop himself on the side of the face. "I can probably take James, everyone after that would easily whoop me."

"Ah, well, muscles aren't everything." Gen tilted her head toward the now further emptying audience. If she noticed it seemed like all eyes were on them, she didn't let on. She was much too classy for that. Though it really didn't help that Dougie still seemed to be bouncing off the walls—or quite literally, bouncing off the seats around them.

God, could he sit still for once?

"Let's go," Gen stood up, brushing off the seat of her pants. She held out her arm. "If I have this much trouble just standing in these things, I think I'll need some help getting backstage."

Tom nodded and looped his arm through hers. He smiled at her, ducking his head when she smiled back. All until the intruding thoughts came once more. Don't fuck this up.

Bloody hell, it was exhausting how quickly his moods could go from high to low.

He was starting to wonder if it was him.

When, in actuality, it was him.

Just not the way he thought.


A/N: I forgot how much I liked writing Tom and Gen, they're just so sweet together. But poor Tom, can't seem to catch a break when he's the one who deserves it the most. Lol. Next chapter: The radio tour starts! And so does so much more drama because of Ronan's sickness.

Also, I need to get back to Patrick's plot. Next chapter, I promise. Bruises On My Heart will be updated soon.

Cheers,

~Riley