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Sometimes, Johnny hates this life. He loves the music, obviously. Of course he loves the music. But sometimes, it feels like the music comes second to everything. To the shows, the interviews, the money, the parties. Especially the parties.
He swishes the red solo cup in his hand, watching the brownish liquid swirl against the white plastic. He hates beer too, and noise. Which is funny, considering the guys he plays with. All this to say, though, that he’s currently hiding against the wall in a room full of people he doesn’t recognize, with his bandmates nowhere to be found. Drinking beer. Goddammit.
This girl wearing what looks to be ten thousand silly bands comes up to him, and says something, but he can’t hear anything over the music blaring over the speakers. It’s not even Homebreak or even AMW. He doesn’t even think it’s off their record label, which is weird, because when Jack throws a party he likes to use it as a networking opportunity, too.
Johnny sighs, mimes that he can’t hear her, and looks back into the kitchen. Maybe he could get something stronger to drink. All the parties Jack throws, this must be his third in two weeks, and he never breaks out the good liquor. Where is that guy, anyways? Probably making out with Cat or someone else in a closet, Johnny thinks sardonically to himself. Every time RJ and him break up, he’s always onto the next conquest.
Well, they have been split for three weeks now, a new record. Johnny’s honestly surprised– it seems like Jack will break up with him one day, then they’ll be all over each other the next. He wonders if this is finally the last time. After three years of… whatever this is, he thinks RJ deserves a break.
The house is almost oppressively loud. For the fifth time in thirty minutes, Johnny wonders why he’s here. He could be at home, curled up with his laptop and some food, scrolling Newgrounds until the sun came up. Suddenly, he feels the ache for a warm blanket and complete silence. But instead he’s at Jack’s house, big enough for a family of five, surrounded by strangers and drunks. He takes another sip of the drink, trying not to grimace.
Someone bumps into him and he almost turns and punches the guy, but he just barely keeps his cool, instead plucking some finger food off the table he’s standing next to. They’re alright, but he’s had better. As legendary as Jack’s parties can be, whenever he and RJ are on the rocks, the food sucks. But it’s something, and that’s better than nothing. Hey, where is everyone, anyways?
Deciding that everybody would probably be in the center of the house, Johnny starts making his way over there, away from the hors d'oeuvres and drinks. It seems like the crowd is never-ending, and he’s sure that he elbowed someone’s drink into their face. Johnny throws back a quick apology, tunnel vision too strong to focus on anything else. And then, finally, like Moses parting the red sea, he catches sight of his saving grace– Jesse, sprawled across the couch with their hand tangled in Fenrir’s mess of black fur.
“Jess– Jesse!” Johnny calls out, shouldering his way through the crowd. They look up, and a small smile crosses their face as they wave him over.
“Hey, dude.” Jesse raises their hand in the same lazy manner that they always move. Johnny weasels his way onto the couch, having to lift Fenrir’s massive head up to make space. The big dog just huffs, tail wagging lazily as Johnny pets his soft fur.
“Hey, John,” comes a familiar voice, and Johnny looks up to see RJ sitting awkwardly on the couch opposite himself. What the frontman would have to be awkward about is lost to Johnny. That is, until he turns his head and sees Jack making out with Cat in his lap. Ah.
“Hey, Jules, why are you all the way over there?” He asks, trying to be subtle. But RJ seems to get in anyways, and he shrugs.
“Y’know. Just, uh… hanging out.” And he shrugs with one shoulder, a sheepish smile on his face. Johnny rolls his eyes and beckons him over, and RJ quickly obliges, standing up like the couch burned him.
When RJ settles in beside him, leaning against the arm he flung across the back of the couch, Johnny gets the acute feeling that he’s being watched. Of course, he knows he isn’t, but the feeling really never goes away, especially in big crowds like this. He self-consciously takes his arm back, instead using both hands to pet Fenrir. RJ’s arm burns where it’s pressed against his.
Why is he even here? He doesn’t need to be here. It’s not like he’s forced to go. He knows these parties are just big ego trips for Jack. But Johnny doesn’t want to leave RJ behind, and he’s actually starting to enjoy hanging with Jesse, so he’ll stay for now.
After some mindless chatter with Jesse, Johnny turns to RJ and asks, “Where are Ronnie and Nik?”
RJ shrugs. “I dunno. I think I saw Nik go into the bathroom? And Ronnie left earlier to help Whinnie with something. I think she’s watching her siblings.”
Johnny nods, then turns to Jesse, who’s running their hands through Fenrir’s pelt. The bassist looks at peace, even in the chaos of the party. A bassist on each arm, he thinks suddenly, then shakes his head to rid himself of it.
Johnny looks back to the other couch to see that Cat has removed herself from Jack and is now hanging over the back of the couch, chatting up a girl with dark makeup.
“Why are you three so mopey?” Jack asks suddenly, looking incredibly drunk and incredibly self-gratified.
“It’s our bassist charm rubbing off on Johnny,” Jesse says, sarcasm nearly palpable.
“Har-har,” Jack says, leaning forward with a hand on his thigh. Johnny doesn’t miss the way RJ pointedly looks awak. “You guys should lighten up. It’s a fucking party, for God’s sake! Go get smashed or something, have a good time.”
“We are having a good time,” RJ lies. He’s always been pretty good at faking it. Johnny, on the other hand, isn’t the best actor in the world.
“Woah, he’s finally talking to me! C’mere, RJ, I got something to give you.” Jack smiles loosely, wiggling his eyebrows a bit. Johnny rolls his eyes– he always gets like this when he’s drunk. Most of the time, being around Jack is bearable, but not when he’s off his ass.
RJ huffs and stands up, and for a split second, Johnny thinks he’s about to go back to Jack for the millionth time. But instead, he passes him by, grabbing his keys from his pocket and making his way to the front door.
Jack’s jaw drops and he turns to watch RJ as he leaves. Then he turns back around, still looking dumbfounded, until a sly smile forms on his lips.
“Hate seeing ‘em go, love watching ‘em leave, right dudes?”
Johnny furrows his brow, standing up and brushing his pants off.
“You’re disgusting, Jack. I’ll see ya later, Jess,” he says, then turns to follow RJ out, drink forgotten on the end table.
Johnny finds him sitting in the cool grass outside, knees up and head down. He quietly sits down next to him, then pulls his phone out of his pocket and connects the earbuds he takes everywhere to them. He offers one to RJ, who takes it gratefully, and turns on the music.
They sit there for a while, just enjoying the music, until RJ leans his head against Johnny’s shoulder.
“Thank you,” he whispers, and if it weren’t for their close proximity, Johnny wouldn’t have heard.
Johnny just nods, and stares at their hands on the ground, ever so close. He wordlessly crosses his pinky with his own, looking up to watch RJ from his periphery. RJ’s face goes through a series of unreadable expressions before he turns his hand, entwining their fingers together.
Johnny smiles, leaning his head back as the music reaches the bridge. He quietly drums out the beat on his lap, then turns to see RJ miming the bass. Smiling wider, Johnny squeezes RJ’s hand and looks out toward the street. The moon is high in the sky, and he watches as people leave the house and pull out of the driveway. And despite the odd feeling that hasn’t gone away all night, Johnny feels safe right here, pressed against a wall in a lawn full of empty cans and plastic cups.
His heart swells three times its size, and he thinks he might be able to stay here forever, if only he wasn’t alone.