Hopeless Haze Oneshots

You Don't Need To Compromise

This takes place during the latter half of Chapter Five of Hot Fuss. You should maybe read that part to understand whats going on, because if you don't remember, you'll be very confused.

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Ronnie unconsciously rolled his suitcase back and forth as he watched Dave collect their room keys from the concierge. The band had scraped up enough money for two rooms at a decent hotel while they did some promotional events in London. Sleeping in an actual bed rather than a stuffy van seemed like it'd be the highlight of the trip.

Well, for three out of the four members, at least.

Although watching Dave talk to an unenthusiastic bellboy wasn't exactly the most fun Ronnie had ever had, it was currently the only thing keeping his attention away from the boy standing next to him. He'd be lying to himself if he said he wasn't sneaking glances, despite the fact that every look further pained him.

The guitarist turned around and walked towards his bandmates with his suitcase wheeling in tow, "Two rooms, one bed in each. Who's pairing up?"

The four Killers all stood in tired silence and stared at each other. From the looks of it, Brandon could have been asleep with his eyes hiding behind his aviators.

"C'mon, guys. The sooner we figure this out, the sooner we can all go the fuck to sleep," Dave whined.

"I'll go with Ronnie," Brandon mumbled as he looked at the drummer and gave him a weak smile. Ronnie couldn't tell if it was his exhaustion or the stutter in his heart that made his whole body seem heavier in that moment.

Ronnie turned his head away and looked at Dave, who was looking at Mark, "Sound good to you, Mark?"

The bassist answered this question with a nod before starting for the elevators, and like moths to a light, the rest of the band followed slightly over-zealously.

Upon exiting the elevator, Brandon asked Dave for his room key, and the sight of it excited the singer with the thought of sleeping. The cheapest flight the band could find would have them landing in London at noontime, which was equivalent to four-in-the-morning for the Vegas residents. And during the particularly turbulent flight, none of the band members were able to catch any sleep—especially Brandon.

"What time is the photoshoot tomorrow?" The mumble came from the singer, who was currently struggling to wiggle his sunglasses off his face. This act was more than adorable, much to Ronnie's demise.

"We have to leave by eleven if we want to get to the shoot for noon," Mark muttered, "we have more than enough time to sleep in."

"Thank god," Brandon sighed and subtly nudged Ronnie's shoulder. The drummer moved away from the touch and hoped Brandon didn't notice.

He did.

"Room 317," Dave stopped walking and looked at Mark, "this is us. You guys are 335, right?"

Brandon nodded and pointed forward, "Yup! We're right down there."

"I'll text you when I wake up. Or I won't. Who cares? Good night, fuckers," Dave unlocked his shared room.

"It's noon, but good night!" Brandon called back as he watched his two bandmates disappear into the room.

The door shut, then Brandon and Ronnie were alone in the hallway.

"He's a riot, isn't he?" Brandon chuckled and began walking down the hallway again. The drummer simply hummed in agreement. Brandon's eyebrows furrowed and he craned his neck slightly to look at Ronnie's face, "You're quiet today, are you okay?"