With A Little Help From His Friends

”Jon, catch!”

”Zeph, no!”

Noticeably slowed by the beers he’d had, Jon lifted his gaze from Spencer to see Zephyr halfway through a throwing motion and Zeke coming up behind him, a slightly panicked look on his face. In the next second, he registered the bottle coming towards him through the air. ‘Strange,’ he managed to think before he was roughly pushed off his chair, falling to the floor as the bottle came down on the table. With a jarring sound it shattered, sending shards of green glass across the tabletop and raining down on the floor, the liquid contents spilling in all directions.

“What the fuck, Zeph?” Spencer exclaimed from somewhere above Jon’s head.

Jon felt something wet on his hand and realised that whatever had been in the bottle was now dripping off the table. Lifting his hand to his mouth, he licked at it. “...Did he just throw a beer bottle at me?”

The question was met with howling laughter. Seconds later, Zephyr more or less stumbled over the bassist, kneeling down and collapsing against the older man as his intoxication got the best of him.

“Your face..!” the singer gasped, clutching Jon’s shoulder with one hand. “Your expression..! Fucking priceless!”

The laughter was contagious, especially as Jon was just as drunk as his friend (only Zephyr handled it much worse) and it wasn’t long before they were both in tatters on the floor. As someone came up next to them, Jon was the first one to collect his wits somewhat.

“Hey, Zeke,” he chuckled, trying to cut his giggling off and failing miserably.

Zeke was gazing down at them with an expression that clearly told on that he was far from happy with his friends’ conduct. Giving Zephyr a jab in the ribs, Jon attempted to push the younger man into a sitting position. Zephyr was most unhelpful, still babbling about the flight of the bottle and Jon’s hilarious facial expression, complete with explanatory arm gestures.

“What the fuck was that good for, huh?” Zeke snapped.

“Did you see his face?” Clearly, Zephyr wasn’t on quite the same wavelength as his bandmate.

“You could have killed him, dickhead,” Zeke argued, pursing his lips.

Zephyr scrunched his nose up and shook his head. “Drama queen, Zeke..! It was just a beer bottle, you should have one!”

“No thanks,” Zeke replied curtly as he stepped back to let Zephyr get to his feet.

“Lots of fun,” Zephyr stated, straightening his shirt and taking a few unsteady steps forward. “Getting drunk out of your head, forgetting every bother you have, just having—”

He cut himself off with a yelp as he managed to stumble over his own feet, crashing to the floor again. As he regained some sense of direction and realised what had happened, Zephyr burst out laughing again. Zeke rolled his eyes and huffed, clearly discontent. Moving over to an armchair, he gave Zephyr a light kick as he passed him by, before sitting down and leaning back, sinking into the large chair.

Zephyr crawled over to him, tugging at his trouser leg. “Zeke. Zeke...”

“What?”

“C’mon, Zeke, I’m not that drunk. I promise.”

“What does ‘not that drunk’ mean, Zeph?”

“I... I could be worse.” Zephyr nodded gravely. “A lot worse.”

“How, exactly?”

“At least he’s not hitting on you..!” Spencer, initially annoyed by the thrown bottle, was grinning now.

Jon nodded in agreement, still chuckling randomly. Zephyr gave Zeke his best puppydog look, placing his head on the other man’s knee. Zeke rolled his eyes again, crossing his arms over his chest and looking away. As Zephyr placed a hand on his thigh, giving another light tug, Zeke’s eyes went back to him.

Zephyr grinned mischievously. “Knew it’d make you look.”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m drunk off my ass and am not-so-subtly flirting with you.”

“You spoke too soon,” Jon pointed out to Spencer.

“At least he’s being honest about it,” Spencer shrugged as the two of them watched the scene before them with mild interest. Interactions between drunken Zephyr and sober Zeke were usually interesting to follow.

“Well, don’t feel me up. I don’t go for guys like you,” Zeke said with a frown.

“Besides, he’s got a girlfriend,” Jon chimed in, in a supposedly helpful manner.

Zephyr shot the bassist a dirty look, before concentrating on Zeke again. Giving his friend’s thigh another squeeze, he smirked as Zeke shifted in the armchair, swatting at his curious hand.

“Fuck off, Zeph. Go pick up some groupie, you’re skilled in that field.”

Somehow, Zephyr managed to look both proud and hurt at the same time, sitting up straight. “Maybe I will. Maybe I’ll spend my attention on someone who appreciates it.”

“Yeah, on some girl who’ll be thrilled to tick you off on her list of ‘celebrities I’ve fucked’.” It was Zeke’s time to smirk now.

There was no telling if Zephyr actually was offended or just putting on a show as he got to his feet, but either way he nailed the emotion. “If that’s how you gonna be, I’ll take my presence elsewhere,” he pouted, talking with his ‘drunken fancy talk’, as Jon called it. “Somewhere where they treat me with the respect I deserve.”

“Next stop, the hotel bar,” Jon said, taking a sip on his beer.

“No way, the club across the street,” was Spencer’s bet.

“The gay club three blocks down,” Zeke sneered. “Where he can get it the way he wants it.”

“Exactly!” Zephyr confirmed, making an uneven beeline for the door. Tugging at the handle, he frowned as the door didn’t open. He tried it again, with the same result.

“It’s locked,” Zeke pointed out to him, holding back a chuckle.

Without replying, Zephyr turned the lock, opened the door and left the room without further ado. As the door closed behind him, Zeke got up from the armchair and joined his friends at the table.

“Five bucks says he’s not coming home before dawn.”

“I don’t know,” Spencer mused, “he might bring someone back.”

“If he does, I hope he goes to his own room,” Jon snorted.

Zeke picked up a plastic card from the tabletop, where it amazingly enough had avoided getting wet from the spilt beer. “He can’t – forgot his key card.”

Looking at the card, Jon frowned. “Shouldn’t someone give it to him?”

“His key isn’t my problem,” Zeke shrugged. “Besides, I’m not going to some gay club to seek him out. He can deal with that the best he can.”

“You think they’ll let him in at all? He’s pretty wasted,” Spencer contemplated.

“With his graceful manners, he’ll be in overnight custody before he knows it.”

“He’ll rule the holding cell.”

“He’ll manage. He usually does.”

“With a little help from his friends.”