Something More | Randy

chapter two | drunk

A/N: Had a couple wines for inspiration. Enjoy x

After a week long blur of caffeine induced insomnia, it was done. Our third EP was recorded, and it was better than anything we'd made before. We were absolutely buzzing. 

"We are going out, aren't we?" Jack pressed us. It was around nine on Saturday night, and we'd just finished a round of applause after listening through our final track start to finish. 

"Mate, I haven't slept in a week," Mikey groaned, rubbing his eyes.

"You slept most of today," I sassed. It was true. Mikey grumbled.

"Come on, Mike, don't be a wet one," Rye encouraged, throwing an arm around his shoulder and shaking him.

"Alright boys, let's go!" Mikey conceded, and Brooklyn whooped and began jumping around in a circle, requiring no alcohol to go off his face mental. I occasionally envied his simple joyous attitude and seemingly boundless energy. 

Jack tackled the hyperactive blond to the ground, causing him to yelp like a puppy, but nevertheless spirits were high as we rode into London, belting our new originals out to the midnight blue sky as we drove. 

***

It had been a long week indeed, which is probably why we were all throwing them back a bit quicker than usual. Jack, who could proudly hold his drink well on a typical night out- despite his small frame- was getting a bit sloppy, draped over Brook and Mikey's laps and possibly no longer speaking English. Even Mikey, who generally erred on the side of caution was feeling it, his distinctive chuckle rising above the noise of the crowded pub. 

Rye and I were deep in conversation. We were analysing some song, about three whiskey shots past the point where what we were saying made any sense.  A few sentences ago Rye had grabbed my hand to emphasise a point. He hadn't let it go yet, and eventually began idly playing with my fingers. 

"What you doing?" I drawled at him, leaning forward, mouth agape.

Rye was scraping the nail polish off my index finger. "Sorry, it's just really satisfying to peel it off," he giggled, moving onto another finger. 

"Look, you've ruined it now," I whined in exaggerated dismay, looking at my now chipped nails. 

"Na, it just matches your guitar hand now, see?" He pointed out, holding both my hands in his in front of me to compare. He was right, my hand that had spent the week strumming was in a significantly less neat state.

"Humph," I frowned, looking at my hands. But I was becoming increasingly distracted by his holding mine rather than the state of my nails. My blue eyes flicked up to meet his deep brown ones; a little droopy and drunk, but still gorgeous as always. Shit. Those were the kinds of observations I generally tried to keep away from the surface of my mind. As my heartbeat quickened a little, I thought about breaking his gaze but- perhaps emboldened by the whiskeys- I didn't. It was a fuck-it kind of a night and I'd left more than a few inhibitions at the bottom of a shot glass. 

Rye's phone buzzed then, pulling his attention away and forcing me unwillingly out of the danger zone. The dopey lopsided smile he'd had while looking at me smoothed into a smirk as he read the message. 

"Do you guys fancy going to a club?" He called to the whole table.

"Yargablah!" Jack exclaimed, raising a hand in the air from his laying down position on Mikey and Brook. We all echoed the sentiment. 

***

The steady unst unst of bass and the sight of people who were not my four bandmates seemed to quickly snap me out of my earlier haze. I hugged a few guy acquaintances who had invited Rye out, and kissed the girls on the cheeks. One who I had not met before, leaned into my ear so she could be heard over the deafening music. 

"I'm Kylie," she yelled.

"Andy." I replied, leaning close to her face. In her close proximity I caught the smell of her perfume. It was light and floral and pleasant. 

"I'm Bex's friend," she explained in my ear, gesturing to our mutual friend behind us, "so you're in a boyband?"

"Yeah I am," I chuckled, leaning into her a bit closer, "what do you do?"

"Well officially I'm a waitress. But I'm studying to be an actor."

I made sure to lock eyes with her as she let out a carefree laugh. I rated myself as a pretty decent flirt when I wanted to be and looking at Kylie, I could tell she was exactly my type. Long dark hair, doll like features, shorter than me even in heels.  I mentally selected her in my brain.

"Do you get much acting work?" I asked, holding my best seductive gaze on hers.

"Yeah, here and there- hey, I'm Kylie!"

I looked around to notice Rye now stood beside me. 

"I'm Rye," he greeted, "alright, Fovvs?" he asked me, snaking an arm around my waist.

"Yeah man," I answered, this time not bothered by the physical contact, safe in the knowledge I was definitely attracted to the pretty girl in front of me. 

"We're gonna go dance," he announced, gesturing out to the full dance floor in the middle of the club. 

"I'm down," Kylie said immediately. I followed them both out after the group as we travelled to the centre of the dance floor. 

We were swallowed instantly by the crowd, bodies pressed up against us on every side. I was still behind Kylie, Rye in front of her, facing me. We swayed to the hypnotic beats, getting lost in the whirl of sweaty bodies and alcohol induced blurriness. My hand was on Kylie's waist and I could feel her body against me, the curve of her butt against my thigh, her hair tickling my neck. 

Before long I noticed she wasn't really dancing with me anymore, despite our forced proximity. Her hand was resting on Rye's shoulder, her chest against his as she swayed. I locked eyes with him, suddenly embarrassed. How long had it been since she had switched her interest to him? His gaze didn't tell me to back off though, instead it held a steady intensity that reminded me of another time I'd seen that look on him...

We were in LA, almost two years ago, at some house party in the early hours of the morning, all of us completely fucked up and most definitely having the time of our lives. We'd found some pretty girls and stumbled with them into the same bedroom. Mine immediately drew me to the edge of the bed, crawling onto my lap and beginning to furiously make out with me. Rye was close behind, falling with his girl onto the furry rug at the base of the bed. My eyes were open despite my occupied lips, watching him as he climbed over the top of the girl and captured her lips in a languid kiss. I watched his tongue enter her mouth, and then his lips travel down her neck, causing her to gasp in pleasure. 

When he noticed me watching him, I turned my attention back to the girl on my lap, deepening my kiss with her, feeling his eyes on me as I cupped one of her breasts in my hand, beginning to softly squeeze. She moaned into my mouth, and I swore I heard a low moan from Rye too in response. I peeked at him again, only to see him pulling his shirt over his head. He ran his fingers up under the girl's top beneath him, and I could almost feel it as she shivered at his touch. He was hard in his jeans and so was I, our shared arousal emanating in the space...

Now in the club, with those eyes on me, I could tell he was aroused again. Yet there was something different in me now, something petty, something that refused to let me enjoy this moment. It had once felt natural to watch Rye with a girl, an extension of our close friendship to share each other's pleasure in this more intimate part of our lives. That morning after in LA had been totally breezy- we hadn't needed to speak about anything, we simply went about our day, singing 'Can't Help Falling in Love' down Hollywood Boulevard with the boys, revelling in one of the best times of our lives. 

I didn't know why I didn't feel that ease now. Maybe it was Kylie's rejection. Maybe it was something else entirely I didn't want to think about. All I knew for certain was that I suddenly felt very claustrophobic on that dance floor. I began to push my way out of the circle, determined to greet the night air, wondering if he would follow me. 

I looked behind me to check, immediately regretting it. Rye hadn't moved. Instead, his hand was tangled in Kylie's dark mane, their bodies impossibly close, his lips moving against hers.