Out of Touch

2

Will would be lying if he said he wanted to be here. Usually one for partying, but tonight he was not. Clad in loose black jeans and a navy blue shirt, he looks... somewhat passable for a social gathering. His mullet is fucking today though. It fucks hard, as James would say. The burning, fiery attack of pure vodka on this through makes him feel slightly tipsy, but he handles his drink well. Raucous bass strikes his ears and actually he doesn't really like the club, but Mikey wanted to go, and he simply came along. Glass in hand, he scouts the room of sweaty, humping bodies and realises that the ginger man is nowhere to be seen.

Probably getting laid. Or, alternatively, trying to.

His tired eyes scan the crowds of people who are simply having fun in the dimly-lit, oppressive interior of the club. He doesn't recognise anybody.

"Yo wait bro is that WillNE?"

Perfect, he thought. Fans. The thing he least needed at this moment.

Ducking his head, he weaved his way through the groups of bouncing humans colliding against each other in a sexual fashion, and in his haste, knocked into a tall, broad man. Will's first thought was that he must be boiling, due to the fluffy cream sheep-textured jumper that thuds against his face. His gaze drops lower, bleached jeans, Doc Martens, before instinctively looking up. The towering figure rotates.

"Will?"

He blinks. Once. Twice. James Marriott. In a club?

"James? I thought you were sober?" Will asks, concerned, glancing over James. He isn't holding a drink like Will is.

"I am. I came with some of the boys from my band. I hate it here." He sighs, fidgeting. Will isn't surprised. James hates enclosed spaces, and people- yet here he is, in a club, pressed between dancing bodies and the perpetual howling of joy. The vociferous music makes James' head twitch.

"I came with Mikey." Will shouts above the bass drop. Something flickers in James' eyes which Will can't quite identify.

A pause. "I'm probably going to leave. Not so fun when you're sober." He yells, eyeing Will's outfit. The Newcastle lad grins.

"I might do that too. Can't cope with this music. I'm not even drunk."

"You look it."

"Tipsy, at best."

James grabs Will's arm and drags him through the crowd, slowly making their way towards the exit.

The air is brisk, glittering streetlamps sway slightly in Will's vision. Maybe he's tipsier than he thought. No, I can't be. I only had a few.

"You know," James begins, after a moment of silence, "sometimes I get jealous about the fact other people are drinking and I can't."

Will frowns, eyes tracking over laughing women in short dresses and rambunctious men hollering at them. He glances at James as they naturally begin walking.

"You can drink. You just shouldn't." He smirks, and he knows James can smell the alcohol on his breath by the way he leans forward slightly before narrowing his eyes.

"I think I'd be alright."

But Will knows he wouldn't. He loves James, but dear God that man can drink. It's not good for him. When he first opened up about his depression and suicidal thoughts, Will wasn't overly surprised. The taller lad always pretended he was happy, but by the way his skin flared into acne and he had a consistent red glow across his cheeks and nose, Will immediately noticed the symptoms of an alcohol addiction. He should have brought it up before James had- he should have been a better friend. At the time, he was far too focused on content creation to bother with James. Something that plagued his brain with guilt whenever the subject arose.