Besides the occasional nightmare on Brandon's part, they carried on with life as usual. Back to the grind of tour life, a new city every night. After about a week it seemed like Mark and Dave had forgotten all about his "episode," and eventually, with all of the hustle of being on the road, Brandon did as well. Mostly. He was reminded whenever he caught Ronnie's eye; the man constantly had his watchful gaze on Brandon, although he never mentioned anything about what happened that night.
Brandon let himself get lost in the energy of the shows, focusing only on making each one phenomenal. He sang his heart out and he danced... well, he danced as well as he could. Every night he achieved his goal of exhaustion, collapsing into his bunk on the bus or his bed at the hotel, instantly deeply asleep; he had learned if he was tired enough, the dreams wouldn't come. This was his routine for nearly a month.
One night after the show the band decided to met up in their backstage quarters to discuss what they should do with their free day tomorrow. Still feeling the adrenaline rush of performing, they were all talking animatedly, joking around and enjoying a couple of drinks. At least, they only intended it to be a couple.
"You're cheating. You have to be cheating!" Brandon exclaimed a couple hours later, sulkily glaring across the foosball table at Dave and Mark, who wore matching smug looks.
"That's four for us. Care to make it five out of nine?" Mark jabbed with a smirk.
"I have a suggestion for where you can shove that stupid little plastic ball," Ronnie shot back at their opponent, and Brandon burst out into giggles, earning him a grin from Ronnie.
After getting them to admit their defeat, Mark and Dave wandered off to play some soccer game on the console across the room. Brandon meandered his way over to the couch and, nudging aside a Chinese food carton, sank down. He felt a warm, pleasant buzz and sighed contentedly before reaching for his glass. He glanced sideways as Ronnie eased down on the opposite side of the couch and felt a familiar flutter in his stomach.
Ronnie pulled out his phone and fiddled on it for a second before leaning over to show Brandon something. "Have you ever heard of this? Heads Up? It's like some kind of charades game," he said, showing him the screen. "Wanna play?"
Brandon smiled. "Why not."
"Okay," Ronnie muttered, poking away at the screen. He handed the phone to Brandon. "Hold that up to your head." Brandon gave a huff of laughter.
"Why?"
"Because that's how you play, dingbat. I picked movies for you."
Brandon took another gulp of his drink and raised the phone to his head.
By the end of three rounds, and a few more drinks, they were both laughing hysterically. Ronnie plopped back down after an admirable mimed performance of Star Wars and lost his balance, lolling over onto Brandon, sending them into another fit.
Head swimming pleasantly, Brandon leaned into Ronnie, humming contentedly, and Ronnie put his arm on the back of the couch behind him.
"The best part of that was you knocking over your cup," he giggled tipsily, raising his own glass to his lips.
"My favorite part was watching you do Magic Mike."
Brandon promptly choked on his drink, feeling his face heating up. Calm down, calm down. You're both drunk. He didn't mean anything.
He became suddenly aware of the fact that he was fully cuddling Ronnie and sat forward a little more quickly than needed to set his drink down. Ronnie dropped his arm and sat up.
"Brandon-" he began before Brandon cleared his throat and rose to his feet, chest tight.
"I'm gonna, uh, get some air," he blurted before quickly heading for the door. He saw Mark and Dave shoot him a wide-eyed look as he hurried past.
He, admittedly, scurried to the back door and pressed the bar, popping it open and stumbling through. It was fully autumn now, and seeing as they were in the Midwest for a few shows, it was also fully frigid.
Shivering, he wrapped his arms around himself and let his head fall back, looking at the nearly full moon.
"You're an idiot," he muttered to himself.
He heard the door pop open behind him and didn't bother to turn around. He knew who it was.
Ronnie stepped up next to him and lifted his head, following Brandon's gaze before sighing.
"Gotta love alcohol, right? Brings out your inner self," he teased gently, looking over at Brandon. Who really wished he wouldn't because now he was blushing again, his cheeked reddening even more in the cold.
"God it's so easy to make you blush," Ronnie laughed, and Brandon finally looked at him, sheepishly.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, and Ronnie's laugh died to be replaced with a slightly confused look.
"What are you sorry for?"
"That. In there. I shouldn't... I didn't mean to..." he trailed off, dropping his eyes. Damn, the toes of those boots are REAL interesting.
"Brandon," Ronnie sighed, and the soft way he said his name made Brandon's heart skip beats. "There's nothing to be sorry for. I think-" he hesitated slighty. "I think, maybe, it's obvious we... feel the same way?"
Brandon's eyes snapped up to Ronnie's. He'd never heard that tone in his voice before. It was so raw and innocent.
"You're sure your not just drunk?" Brandon laughed disbelievingly and Ronnie gave his sarcastic grin.
"I mean, yeah, but not THAT drunk."
The two stood in silence for a moment, staring at each other, before Ronnie tentatively stepped forward, slowly lifting his hand to Brandon's face, testing the waters.
"God you're handsome, Flowers," he muttered.
My, you're a handsome one, aren't you?
Suddenly, it wasn't Ronnie in front of him, it was a pair of glowing eyes and a fanged smile. A strangled cry escaped him and he flinched back so violently that he almost fell. Ronnie grabbed his arm in alarm, staring intently at Brandon as he stared back, wide-eyed and shaking.
"You didn't just pass out," he stated. And his suspicions were confirmed when Brandon looked guiltily away.
"I think it's time you told me the truth."
--
A/N: JESUS THIS CHAPTER KICKED MY ASS. I hate how it starts but that's as good as it's gonna get.
