Richard, the lead singer of Chasing Dreams At Night, made his way to Ronnie Radke's tour bus. Ronnie and Richard were a sort of on again off again thing; and on this evening in particular, they were an off thing, as in completely off. It was a Friday night––and they were going out to get fucked.

But fucked as in totally shit-faced, of course, because it was a Friday night and they were completely an off thing.

As he got to the tour bus, he was greeted by Avery, his best friend slash bandmate.

"Lemme guess, you got invited to Ronnie's party thing too?" Avery said, as he hugged Richard.

"Yeah, I have no clue why I'm going, though. He probably just wants to run his mouth, saying he found someone else." Richard sighed, his voice betraying his irritation.

Patting him on the back, Avery was quick to reassure his best friend. "Aww. Don't be upset, Richie. He doesn't deserve you."

"Thanks, Av." Richard smiled shyly. "That .. means alot."

"After you," he added and Avery blushed but conceded, climbing into the bus with Richard on his heels.

"You guys made it!"

Ashley Purdy made himself known almost immediately, jumping up from his seat to pull Richard away from Avery.

"Come sit down next to me, Richie," Ashley purred, leading the burly redhead by the bicep to sprawl across the cushions.

Dark-haired Ashley Purdy had always had a crush on Richard––and everyone knew it. While Richard found Ashley attractive, he was head over heads in love with the tattooed enigma Ronnie Radke and everyone knew that, too. Ashley knew that, too, but it never stopped him from hitting on the redhead.

Next to arrive on the scene was Jayy von Monroe, the Fuentes brothers, Kellin Quinn, Alex Gaskarth, and Jack Barakat. Lean and ebon-haired, Jack was the tallest of them, standing at six foot two; directly beneath him in size was pale-eyed Jayy who was only shorter by an inch––and yet he was the one who lead them forwards into the tour bus.

The moment he saw Avery, a grin edged across his lips and he practically bolted for the blond, sweeping him quite literally off his feet and showering his cute face with noisy kisses, ignoring his squealing protests.

The two of them were dating and had been for some time; everyone thought that they were the perfect couple. They never fought, at least not to the band's knowledge––their relationship was sweet and gentle, the antithesis to the fiery collision that never failed to mark Ronnie and Richard's brief but nonetheless stormy affairs.

Soon everyone was present. Tattooed and half-wild, Ronnie slid out from the bunks, his own bandmates at his heels. His eyes scanned the others' faces and, upon catching sight of Richard who sat sprawled between Ashley's legs, darkened noticeably.

Did that bitch Purdy want to die?

He stepped back, swallowing his jealousy. Rapping his knuckles against the wall to make his presence known, he was somewhat mollified to see his boyfriend blush a deep scarlet––and Purdy flinch, as if struck. Bastard.

"Yo, Jacky, you got a sec?"

It was funny, how the Brit popped up almost immediately. "Yeah, of course. What's up?" he asked, the sophistication of England distorting his voice with a thick accent.

Ronnie hesitated, hating how anxious he felt. Hating how he couldn't help it, how every time he tried to push the nerves back, they just sprang back up, cropping up even stronger than before.

And it was all Richard's fault––the muscular redhead was fucking bewitching. Fidgeting with a loose nail in the doorway, he avoided his friend's gaze, even though he knew that Jacky would see right through him. He always did. "You sure about this? This game'll make Rich come back, right?"

Sure enough, Jacky picked up on the singer's agitation, roling his eyes and slinging a tattooed arm around Ronnie's neck, pulling him close. "Dude, we talked about this last night. Remember? It's simple. All's we do is get him drunk enough to fuck everyone––"

"Everyone?" The singer bristled, upper lip curling. He hated to even think of Ashley like this and yet the thoughts remained, eating away at him. "Even Purdy?"

What if Richard fucked Purdy and realized he was a better lay than Ronnie? Oh, God––was Purdy a better lay than Ronnie? What if–what if–

Jack interrupted Ronnie's internal agonizing, hipbumping him hard enough that he almost fell over. The Brit laughed, steadying him.

"Dude, chill out. Trust me, the last person you should be worrying about is Purdy. Word is that his dick's so tiny you can't even feel it when it goes in. It just tickles."

"Hey, man. Dude. Look at me, Ron. Look at me. Just trust me on this, okay? This is going to work. When the game's over, he'll realize that you're the only one good enough for him." Jacky smiled–––and despite himself, Ronnie felt reassured as he allowed his friend to lead him to join the others.