Chapter Text
CHAPTER 1- Danny
The band house always felt too quiet after tour.
Not the peaceful type of quiet, just too quiet. The kind that makes your ears ring, that makes you feel unsettled. Itching for something to happen.
He woke up on the sofa, still half dressed, feeling half dead. Someone’s jacket crumpled under his head, and a half eaten pizza slice in his hand. Eurgh.
Danny chucks it into the empty, soggy box on the floor beside him, and decides to sit up. His head is ringing, and he attempts to clutch it for a moment to get himself together, but his phone buzzes in his pocket interrupting him.
It’s a number he doesn’t recognise.
He answers it, and a girls voice rings through, far too loud for his ringing head.
“Heeeeeyyyy-“
He snaps his phone shut.
Danny fully sits up now, placing his feet on the floor. He rubs his face, and listens. The house groans with the quiet morning- pipes, wind, and the faint hum of the fridge, that definitely saw better days before the boys moved into the house. He tries to rummage through his brain about what him and Dougie were talking about last night, how they got so drunk Danny couldn’t even drag himself upstairs to sleep in his own bed. He gives up on this, and just tries to clear his head and listen again. No fans screaming. No stage lights frying his retinas. Just the sound of… a distant guitar from upstairs.
He knew who it was.
Of course it was Tom.
Danny eventually stretches, tries to pick his phone up from the sofa, then drops it again. He can’t be bothered. The taste of stale beer lingered in his mouth, the smell of Harry’s cologne , which he hated, clung to his shirt, and his hair was frizzy. He made a mental note to straighten it again.
They’d been home four days. Four. And already, Danny didn’t know what to do with himself.
On tour, every second had a purpose. Soundcheck, showtime, girls, more girls, sleep when you could. Put on a good show, and do it all again. Back here, there was nothing but empty hours and the walls that have fingerprint stains (and punch holes,) all over them.
Danny groans as he stands up, and wanders into the kitchen. He opens the fridge just to stare at it. It’s mostly cans and ketchup. Tommy, the tour manager, usually did all the shopping to keep everyone going. But now, the fridge just looks sad. He reaches into the danger zone, and cracks open a beer before noon anyway.
Subtly, the sound of guitar stops. A few seconds later, footsteps come down the stairs.
Tom appears in the doorway, hair a mess, sleeves pushed up. He looks tired in a way Danny can’t describe - as it’s not hungover tired. He has his notebook tucked under one arm, and a faraway look in his eyes as if he’s still engrossed in whatever song he was conjuring up upstairs.
“Alright mate?” Tom eventually asks, seeing Danny just standing with his open beer, staring at Tom like a deer in headlights.
“Oh, yeah. I mean-“ Danny attempts to respond, but he’s not actually spoken this morning, and his throats so dry his words practically croak out. He coughs a few times. “Got a banging headache.”
“How about you try water instead?” Tom laughs, heading to the sink and pouring himself his own glass of water. He hesitates for a moment, then stares back at Danny.
“You going out tonight?”
“What?” Danny responds, confused. He finally closes the fridge.
“With Harry and Dougie?? Come on mate, you were all planning it for like, hours last night.” Tom rolls his eyes, but a smile stays on his face. “Oh yeah, you probably won’t be able to remember.”
Danny shoves Toms shoulder slightly and laughs. “Cheeky sod.” Even so, Tom passes Danny his water, and he chugs the whole thing.
Dougie appears in the kitchen, in only shorts, eating the slice of soggy pizza.
“Yuck, was that a dare Doug?!” Danny repulses at seeing the pizza slice, which was previously in his hands, now in Dougie’s.
“Nah. He did it all on his own accord.” Harry chimes in, pretending to gag. “Going to the pub later on, yeah?” He asks, looking at no one in particular. Dougie nods, and Danny follows without hesitation. Even though he can’t remember planning this. I mean, what’s the harm in getting out the house, right? No need to write the other album straight away…
“T bag?” Harry walks over to Tom, and pats his shoulder as he reaches to search in the cupboards. “You coming?”
Tom shakes his head. “Don’t think I’ll stay awake for it mate. Didn’t sleep much last night.”
“Don’t be boringg…” Dougie pouts, chucking the pizza crust in the bin. Tom repulses slightly at that, then scratches the back of his neck. “Maybe.” He responds, then flees back upstairs. Danny stares after him, then without much thought, keeps talking to the other two boys.
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By the evening, the house had shaken off the hangover.
Harry has music blaring too loud from his room, and Dougie is halfway through convincing Tom that he needs a night out. Danny leans against the doorframe, arms folded, watching them.
Toms trying his best to protest.
“I’m knackered, Doug. I don’t feel like-“
“Exactly why you should come out!” Dougie exclaims. “fresh air, good tunes, a few pints-“ Tom rolls his eyes, but he can’t hide the small smile. “You’re all nightmares.”
“Correct.” Harry responds, already in his jacket and at the door. “Come on, before Jonesy drinks the whole fridge again.”
“Hey, what the hell?!” Danny shouts back as he grabs his own jacket. He can’t wait to go out, he feels refreshed, and ready to stop wallowing in the house.
By nine pm, they were in some pub just far away from home that no one stared too hard. The kind of place with sticky floors and music loud enough to shout over. The kind of place they’re not going to get crowded around all night.
Danny liked it that way. He liked watching the lads loosen up, Dougie dragging people onto the dance floor, Harry trying to charm any girl in sight, and Tom accidentally snorting while he’s laughing one too many times. For a while, it almost felt like the early days - before their debut album. Before fame, before pressure, before much was expected from them. Just the four boys chucked in the house, wondering if they’re even going to get along with eachother, and bonding through alcohol and their one shared passion for music. It’s just pure luck that these other three guys turned out to be such good mates. But Danny doesn’t like to be sentimental.
He shifts his attention, first to how many empty glasses on the table that he’s already drank, then he turns to Tom next to him, who’s finished his momentary pint and had actually been chatting away this whole time. His cheeks are slightly flushed as he chats away, and he looks lighter tonight. He’s not looked this tranquil since being on stage the week before. His friend spoke, and in a tired haze, Danny tried his best not to stare.
“Shots!!” Dougie walks over, shouts, and slams his hands on the table, making everyone jump. Harry slides down in a seat opposite Danny. “Mush, you’re on bar duty.”
Danny rolls his eyes, a smirk touching his lips as he pushes himself off his seat. “I always am.”
He makes his way through the crowd, of the now busy bar, (jeez, how much time had actually passed while he’s been sat downing beers at the table?) shoving his way up to the counter. On his journey, multiple girls had reached out to him, but uncharacteristically, Danny shoves past and keeps walking. Funnily enough, he doesn’t feel like hooking up with anyone tonight. Probably better if he doesn’t look any girls in the eyes.
He reaches the bar, and leans his shoulders against it. A new barman is working, not the hot chick who was on shift ten minutes beforehand. Danny mentally swears at this. The barman is young- maybe his age- tattoos peeking under his rolled sleeves. Danny leans forwards, shouting over the noise.
“Four tequilas!”
The barman nods and grabs four shot glasses. “You lads celebrating something?”
Danny shrugs. “Just life, mate.” He then winced at himself, cringing himself out after saying that.
“Uh, great tattoos. Really cool actually.” He tries to save himself from the awkward moment.
“Hey, much appreciated.” The barman smiles at his compliment, setting the glasses down. His grin was lazy, but confident. “You from round here?”
“Sort of.” Danny hesitates. “Band house a few streets down.”
“Right, you look familiar,” the guy says. “Whats your name?”
“Danny.”
“Well Danny,” he winks, “first round’s on me.”
Danny blinked, standing up straight. “You serious?”
“Depends,” the barman laughs. “You saying no? Or shall I just give you my number instead?”
It wasn’t the words so much as the tone. The way he said it - direct, easy - the way he’s smirking while pouring the drinks , makes Danny feel as if this guy had just crossed a line, a line he didn’t expect anyone to draw. The barman kept talking. Danny couldn’t make out any words, it just went in one ear and straight out the other side. This is something he’d never experienced before from a guy. All that was on Danny’s mind now, is, is he flirting..?
Eventually, Danny laughs it off as he grabs the glasses, though it comes out awkward. “Cheers, mate.”
He turns back to the crowd, suddenly aware of how warm the room was, how tight his shirt is. His heart had picked up, stupidly, like he’d been caught doing something wrong. He even almost drops the glasses several times on his way back due to his sweating hands. It didn’t mean anything. Just banter. Just a simple interaction. Still, his face is burning the whole way back to the table. He even thinks, ’jeez, I need to stop drinking’, which is a first.
“Jonesy! Took your time?” Dougie shouts, hitting him on the back as he sits down, placing the four shot glasses on the table.
“Yeah,” Harry adds. “Chatting someone up?” He spots a girl standing near the bar, and nods his head towards her with a sly grin. “Ohh, wait. Was it h-“
Danny forces a laugh, shoving the shots even closer to his friends. “What, the Barman? He’s not my type. Obviously.”
The other three boys shoot their head away from the girl, back to Danny. “Never said he was mush..” Harry raises his eyebrow.
Tom opens his mouth to say something,a smile tugging on his lips, but Danny just picks up his shot. “Just shut up and drink, will ya?”
They all do, cheering and slamming glasses down. One after another, as time passes. The music shifts to something loud and fast. Dougie drags Tom onto the dance floor, and for once, Tom doesn’t resist. Danny stays back for a minute with Harry, just watching - Tom moving awkwardly at first, then laughing as Dougie spun him around.
Danny grinned, shaking it off when Harry starts to leave to join them. Danny follows, jumping into the blur of lights and noise, the taste of tequila sharp in his mouth, and faintly, the echo of that bartenders voice stuck in his head.
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They pile out of the taxi like it’s some sort of clown car. Dougie’s halfway on Harry’s shoulders, Tom’s trying to find his keys, and Danny’s still laughing so hard he can barely stand upright. He doesn’t even know what’s so funny. The door swings open, someone kicks their shoes off and someone else trips over them. Danny’s not really paying attention.
“Right,” Harry declares, stumbling towards the kitchen as Dougie tries to climb down off him. “Who wants toast?”
“Who doesn’t want toast?” Dougie slurs, knocking over a chair as he stumbles onto the floor.
Danny’s still catching his breath watching them, leaning his back again the wall. He can feel the alcohol buzzing in his veins, warm and lazy. His cheeks hurt from laughing. He tries to warn Harry that the toaster is broken, or that they don’t even have any bread that isn’t mouldy, but the furthest he can make it is a few steps before he’s laughing again at the thought.
Apart from Harry and Dougie clattering in the kitchen, a few minutes of silence pass. Danny manages to stop his laughing, and he just scratches his head. He glances over and spots Tom sitting on the floor, back against the sofa, head tilted back. His eyes are half closed, and there’s a faint smile on his lips. He’s holding a half empty beer bottle Danny left there the night before, not even drinking it, just clutching onto it like it’s the only thing keeping his conscious.
“Mate,” Danny says, dropping down beside him. “You survived the night out.”
Tom chuckles, low and quiet. He’s way past the drunken point of being energetic. “Barely, Dougie nearly killed me with his dancing.”
“He was dancing? He looked like he was having a fit.”
Tom laughs again- a real laugh, and even if it wasn’t that funny, Danny feels proud of himself. He stares for a second, then takes the bottle off Tom and drinks some of it to distract himself. The bartender flashes back into his mind.
Eventually, Tom nudges Danny with his foot. “You were quiet for a bit tonight.”
“Was I?” Danny asks, playing dumb.
“Didn’t flirt with anyone.”
Danny smirks. “You keeping tabs on me ?”
“Hard not to. You’re usually the loudest person in the room.” Tom fidgets.
He shrugs. “Didn’t feel like it, I guess. New year new me?” He tries.
Tom studies him for a moment, not saying a word. It’s an awkward feeling, it makes him want to look anywhere else but Tom. But he doesn’t.
“You’re allowed to just… be..” Tom stops, raising an eyebrow at himself.
“That didn’t come out right. Forget it. I forgot. What I was- er- going to say…” Tom now starts rambling, he always does when he gets embarrassed. This time his words are all just slurring into one however.
Danny scoffs, laughing it off. “Sounds like something you’d find on a mug.”
A crash comes from the kitchen, followed by cursing.
“That might’ve been your mug for all we know. You’re mugless.”
Tom grins, his eyes half lidded. “Then buy me a new one.”
They sit there in the half-darkness for a while. In this moment, everything feels slowed down. Tom looks tired again. And Danny, while staring at him, doesn’t know what he feels. Just that it’s something he’d never felt before.
He shakes it off, standing too quickly so that he has to hold onto the back of the sofa to keep himself steady. He needs to sober up or he might not be able to stop himself from thinking about this. “Gonna grab a water, you want one?”
“Look at you, being all responsible,” Tom coos, his eyelids hardly open. “Yeah. Thanks.”
Danny heads for the kitchen, where Dougie’s now fallen asleep on the table and Harry’s scoffing some burnt bread straight from the toaster. He manoeuvres past the smashed glasses and mugs, and what are the odds that one of the smashed ceramics on the floor is actually toms mug. He grabs two glasses, fills them, the glances at his reflection in the dark window. His cheeks are flushed, his hair a mess.
He tells himself it’s just the drink. Just the night. Nothing more.
But when he goes back to the living room, Tom’s flat out asleep on the floor, curled in a ball. The sight makes Danny’s chest ache slightly. But he didn’t care just a few seconds ago when Dougie was asleep on the table.
He leaves the second glass of water on the coffee table.