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I used to hate drinking. People downing alcohol and passing out never particularly disturbed me either, mostly because I am one of them. So obviously I don't really mind it now.

I mostly just gave up on myself and my thoughts. I don't want to deal with reality or the people who are disappointed in me because of it. 

I am really good at disappointing people.

My aching eyes and tired body lie motionlessly on the couch, just realizing I never even made it to my bunk fifteen feet away. 

"Alright, Ryan, sunglasses and gum for you." Zack's voice mumbles from across the room.

"Can I have some painkillers with that?" I ask, digging my head back into the limp pillow, slumping my arm off of the leather couch.

"Yep," Zack makes his way to the cabinet, grabbing two Tylenol for me. I groan. 

"That shit isn't strong enough." I exclaim.

"Anything else in here will make you fall asleep."

"That sounds perfect." I hold out my arm, it requiring more effort than usual. I fell the two pills fall into my palm and realize by the size they're in fact Tylenol. I take them dryly and struggle to sit up.

"You have an interview today." Zack reminds me.

"I don't even want to move." 

"Oh well. You're joining them." I let out a deep sigh, soon to be caught with a yawn. 

I hear the bus door slam and turn to see Brendon with a small but lazy smile on his face. "Hey," he says to me, positioning himself on the sofa across from me. 

"Hey," I try to smile at him but I maintain the same straight-faced expression. 

"You feeling okay? You did a lot yesterday."

"Yeah," I lie, "Tylenol."

"Um. Want to go for a walk?" 

I think for a minute and nod. "Sure," Brendon gets to his feet and I shakily  stand. He studies me carefully and looks down to the ground. 

We get out of the bus and walk around whatever town we're in, Brendon grabbing my hand and reassuringly squeezing it. "You know what I'm scared of?" He looks upwards, chin tilting up towards the grey sky. 

"Thunderstorms? Zombie apocalypse? Justin Timberlake's old haircut?" I smile to myself. 

"Well those, and you."

"You're scared of me?"

"I'm scared that one day you'll smoke or drink too much and nobody will be there to save you." His monotone voice manages to hit me. I feel like I got shocked and my veins throb to emphasize it. 

"I'm not going anywhere." I bump up against him playfully, the pills finally kicking in. 

"Just... Be more careful. When you get upset just talk to me instead of grabbing the booze and tragic magic. You know how horrible that shit is for you? I won't even do it and that says a lot."

"One time," I reply quickly, referring to the form of cocaine, "I haven't done that since... Months ago."

Brendon just keeps walking, looking at nothing in particular. I look down at my feet, watching the scuffed tips of my shoes. "I'll totally be okay,"

He sighs. He can tell I'm lying.

-

I can tell the interviewer totally had it in for me. In fact, she decided to ask me most of the questions regarding how I begged Pete over the Internet to come see us play. I did take a sip of whiskey from the bottle which barely took away the nerves. 

"So Brendon, what are your thoughts on..." I stop listening and play with my thumbs.

Jon nudges me, trying to get me to pay more attention but I for the most part ignore it. 

"Alright, well this was Panic at the Disco." The woman finishes; I immediately get up and head to the bathroom. I feel rather dizzy, as I lean against the sink and taking deep breaths. My body feels like it could collapse at any moment, this day being quite long. 

"You alright, man?" I hear Spencer ask from the door. 

"Yeah. Just checking my hair."

Probably didn't believe that one.

"Bus is leaving in five!" Zack yells from down the hallway, probably plotting my death considering how interview went. Brendon saved my ass on the sentences I couldn't put together. 

I go to the bathroom and get on the bus, stealing one of Brendon's cigarettes and taking another sip of the whiskey. One sip turns into gulps in a short amount of time. 

I feel myself get more intoxicated as I stare out of the window, laughing to myself because damn, I suck. And I don't even care. That's what I find so funny. 

"Getting drunk isn't much fun when you're by yourself," I hear Jon say as he grabs a bottle of wine from the rack. I bring the cig to my mouth and breathe it in and puff out a huge amount of smoke. "Brendon won't be too happy about-"

"Shut up, Jon." I slur.

"Too late now anyway." 

I finish the cigarette and grab another. "Grab me one," Jon says.

"I got the last. I'm not sharing." I smile somewhat evilly. 

"But the pack was full this morning! I swear I'm living with chimneys." Jon complains. I aim the smoke towards him; he swats it away with his hand. 

I take another big sip, letting it burn my mouth and my throat before swallowing it completely. "When is our next show?" I ask, the words sounding like one big slur. 

"Tomorrow. We are going to be driving all night." Jon sighs, turning on the TV to some sports station and then flipping through channels. One would think our bus would be fun and full of several people, but not tonight. Jon and Spencer's girls would join us on many occasions, or just random woman who are looking for a decent fuck that Zack claims to know and invites them. 

Thanks for that one, Zack. 

My body feels completely nonfunctional as I lie further down on the couch, attempting to count the little pieces of dust I see in the air, a small part of the sun reaching through the windows. 

"Come on, Ryan! Let's watch some Cinderella!" Jon yells and I moan to the sudden loud noise. "Wow. Drank a bit too much again?"

"Maybe...?" I wine and turn on my side, facing the cushions. "Where's Brendon?" 

"In his bunk. Want me to get him?" 

"Mhm," I swallow hard as I hear footsteps fade to the back of the bus, and quiet speaking. I fucked up again. 

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, "Ry," Brendon whispers; I feel his hand touch my shoulder. My muscles relax. "Sit up and drink my water." I listen and pull my self up with Brendon helping. I take a sip of the luke warm water and hiccup.

Fucking hell. At least I don't think I'll throw up this time.

Brendon takes his seat where my head was resting and pulling me into his arms and kissing my temple. He is still sleepy from his nap and I am also exhausted.

"Being drunk isn't much fun anymore." I admit, curling into his chest. Brendon just plays with my hair and I shrink down to rest my head on his lap and passing out.

-
A/N please excuse any errors. I am writing this on my phone :(.rate and review?