Damn, He Can't Compare

5. cute drunk

June 5th, 1986. A small dive bar. 11:29 P.M.

The only appropriate celebration we could think of was a small dive bar where Roland, Curt, Ian and Manny had met years early. Since then the band had been waiting for their big break, and this was finally it, "Cheers!" Manny exclaimed with joy, bumping glasses with all the guys.

They all split apart, going in every different direction, I stayed close to Curt, not being much of a drinker myself I had to look after all the boys. It wasn't far into the night before I realised how angry Kate was about the whole situation.

As Curt sat on the stool next to Manny and began explaining the primal scream to a drunken extent. My thoughts were solely absorbed in Roland's fight with Kate, over at the bar he threw back another drink after drink.

Previously I saw Kate next to Roland, she walked away, clearly upset. She wanders back over to him, "Roland, get your damn ass off the stool and take me home." She demanded, tugging on his sleeve, something boils inside of him, and his arm in thrown up, knocking a drink over, "Fuck off Kate!" he swears as his pants get covered. She storms off in the opposite direction again.

"There she goes again, pushing his buttons." I muttered out loud, luckily nobody heard me.

June 6th, 1986. A small dive bar. 1:06. A.M.

As the night wore on, Ian's head was shoved down a toilet, vomiting up his lunch, while a very drunk Curt stumbled over to the bouncer trying to pick a fight and Manny hit on unwilling girls in the corner. The only straight one was Roland at that point, I had no idea how he could handle his drink the best.

I decided it was time to herd them all in and go home. Leaving the bar, I shoved Curt's shoulders into the back of the taxi, followed closely by Roland. I didn't bother to ask if he was staying over, it was pretty clear he didn't want to be anywhere near Kate tonight.

I climbed into the middle with either boy next to me. Curt vaguely kept asking questions about his shoes, "Where?" he looks at his feet, "Are my shoes?" he asked, totally ditzed out. I chuckle softly in utter enjoyment, before informing him that they're still on his feet for the tenth time.

I didn't pay much attention to drowsy drunk Roland, but the warmth through his clothing matched my leg, unknowing to anyone but myself, we shared a silent moment together.

June 6th, 1986. Curt and my house. 2:01. A.M.

The driver dropped all of us off outside the house, we stumbled across the lawn and when inside I place my hand on Roland's shoulder, Are you okay?" I said, in response he jerked away and went directly for the guest room.

I shook it off for the moment, dealing with Curt dozily reaching for another bottle of booze, to which I grab out of his hands, "Go to bed darling." He makes a strange face, "Where are my shoes?" he whines again, searching the ground where he stood.

"You left them at the door." I remind him casually, "Come on, let's get you in bed." I help him up the staircase, pushing his back encase he falls. It wasn't very effective as he collapsed in the middle of the stairs. His head rested against his hand, and he closed his eyes, "Honey." I sighed, "This isn't our bed."

Finally he crawls up the rest of the way and into the bedroom, I couldn't help but blush at how weird he is. I melted when he rolled onto the bed and patted the surface next to him for me to lay down.

I jump on, and rest my head against his shoulder bone, "You're impossible." I muttered, noticing he had already fallen asleep, "I love you." I whispered, knowing full well he's not going to hear me.