"So you're, like, twelve?"

The guy's grin dims a little. "Um. No."

"No, no, seriously." Jon leans in a little bit, because the dude is oh so seriously a pre-teen, wow. He has some killer Pete Wentz hair, though. It's kind of more than awesome. Jon wants to touch it.

"You've seen your own band, right?"

Jon does some jazz hands, because Ryan's been hounding him lately about getting his jazz hands just right, and Ryan is totally hilarious. "And you play, oh man, you play the tambourine?" This is gold. Solid-fucking-gold; he can't wait to tell Spencer. Spencer and the tambourine are, like, mortal enemies.

Joe-bob-nate-kevin-paul crosses his arms over his chest and glares at Jon, but he just looks like a frustrated puppy, all floppy hair; Jon just wants to take him home and give him to Brendon to cuddle. Seriously, it's worse than the Alexes. Jon's tried to steal the Alexes many a time before - they're so wee and squishable and Jon's a good guy, he always promises them candy and shit if they'll follow him home - but at least he can tell them apart.

"Yeah, so this has been great, man, but I gotta—"

"Dude, dude, are you married?" Jon is so sure Nick-paul-george is, like, for real fourteen. He might have been exaggerating before, but seriously, seriously, these dudes are a-dorable. Cutest things since Alex DeLeon.

"Are you high?"

Jon does jazz hands again, only they're more like stop-in-the-name-of-love hands. Jon is only a little bit high. Just a teeny-tiny bit. No big. No need to advertise. "Hey, I'm not the one wearing the ring, sport-o." Jon has never in his life called anyone sport-o. That right there is some grade-A funny shit. Jon stuffs his fist in his mouth to keep from giggling.

Kevin-jack-nick's cheeks actually flush. Like little bursts of rose on the top of each cheek and Jon wants to press his mouth to them because Jon has such a weakness for cute dudes, shit. Jon has a problem, oh man. Spencer's gonna kill him, but maybe it'll be worth it.

another word for tacos

 

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