Oh, Memories ⚣ ryden one shot

little death and musical beds [1/3]

It was two-thirty in the afternoon, and it was raining. Brendon's clothes were heavy and stuck to his skin as he walked around the streets of Las Vegas, extremely hungover - he had just woken up maybe an hour ago, in some random dude's bed, completely naked, and his ass had hurt. It still did, as a matter of fact. His head hurt, too. Zack was probably still fretting over him. The last time he had checked his phone, he had gotten seventeen texts from the bodyguard as well as eight missed calls, three of them with voicemails. He had ignored them then, and he continued to do so.

He bumped into another pedestrian, mumbling an apology (they guy didn't return the gesture and simply grunted angrily in response), not looking up from the wet pavement. He was starting to get cold, and wet, more and more with each step. He really wanted to go drop himself off at another bar, but he had been in this part of Las Vegas before, and he knew that the nearest bar was almost three miles away, and he couldn't walk that far without someone recognizing him and posting about it on social media, which Zack would then see and then come get him. He didn't want to see Zack right now. He wanted to be alone. So he turned into the nearest shop he saw, which just happened to be a diner.

A blast of warm air greeted him as he walked in the room, and he immediately started feel a little better. Just a little; the mood change was very slim. At least he was out of the cold, wet rain, although he was still in his cold, wet clothes.

He sat down at the nearest booth, wincing as his arse made contact with the seat. That guy must have fucked him hard last night. He couldn't remember.

He groaned, rubbing his face with his hands. He felt sick. He wanted to go back to the bus where the rest of the guys were staying. But then he would have to face Kenny's disappointed remarks, Dan's disapproval, and Dallon's fretting. He didn't even want to think about Zack's lecture. It was best to stay out until the show that night. Soundcheck didn't matter at the moment.

He pulled his hands away from his face just in time to see a waitress walking up to his table. He sat up straighter, wiping off some of the water that was still on his face, hoping to pass off as a normal passerby, not some guy who was going through a divorce, drinking from the moment he woke up until he passed out again, and nearly tried to kill himself two days ago.

"Welcome to Roxy's Diner, how can I help you?" The woman greeted in a thick Southern accent.

"Do you have any beer?" Brendon heard himself say. "Or alcohol, or anything, really."

"We do," The waitress - Eliza, as her nametag read - confirmed.

"I'll just have one of those. I don't care what kind." He really didn't. He was past the point of caring. He had been in that stage for a long time now.

"Right up," Eliza promised. She paused, then chuckled. "Sir, would'ya like a towel?"

Brendon remembered that he was still sopping wet. "Yes, that would be great. Thanks."

She winked. "No problem, sugar," she said before walking away, her high heels clicking with each step.

Brendon wiped his wet hands on his jeans, which were also wet, making no difference. He was just glad that the waitress didn't recognize him. He almost expected her to, honestly. He was glad to be away from the publicity for a moment. All he wanted was some liquor.

He spent his time scrolling on Twitter, not really paying attention to whatever the other celebrities he followed were saying, simply passing the time, but when he came across an account that Zack had retweeted a tweet from, he froze.

@/panicupdating: Brendon apparently didn't show up for soundcheck?

He quickly made his way to the explore tab, typing in "#panicatthedicso", and was shocked to see all the overwhelmed accounts freak out about his absence.