Hopeless Haze - Vol. I: Hot Fuss (Chapter Four)
Volume I: Hot Fuss
Chapter Four: You Gotta Help Me Out
Brandon stirred in his sleep in the morning; still too early for him to get up. The clock on the nightstand read as five thirty-four, so he snuggled deeper into the warmth of his bed. It was then when the singer realized that his bed had never been that warm before. Brandon peered into the low-light and realized that he was nuzzled against his drummer, who had his arm around Brandon and was fast asleep. Deciding that he liked the closeness he shared with Ronnie, Brandon laid his head across the drummer’s chest and dozed off again, feeling safe in Ronnie’s hold.
A few hours later at eight, Ronnie woke up to find the singer gripping onto his torso. The drummer immediately felt guilty, knowing that Brandon didn't want to be in a relationship. Ronnie decided that leaving would be the best action to take, but when he began to inch away from the sleeping man Brandon mumbled in his sleep and pulled Ronnie closer. Ronnie wanted to scream. The drummer decided to just lay there until Brandon either let go or woke up-the latter came first. Brandon’s bright doe eyes slid open and found their way to Ronnie’s. The singer’s tired smile made his heart melt. The older man didn't know what to do; should he explain that it was an accident? Before the drummer could explain himself, Brandon spoke.
“Good morning,” Ronnie was confused.
“Good morning,” he repeated. “It’s only eight-shouldn't you go back to sleep?”
“I should…” Brandon said before nuzzling deeper into Ronnie’s chest. “But I wanna stay with you.” Ronnie wanted to die-he was in love.
“If I stay with you will you go to sleep?” Ronnie ran his hand through Brandon’s soft hair, sending shivers down the boy’s spine.
Brandon leaned into the drummer’s touch, “Mhmm… maybe.” The two laid like that for the longest time, leaving Ronnie to contemplate his situation. His heart ached for something more from Brandon, but he didn't want to push the boy away.
After staying in a comfortable silence for a while, Brandon pushed away and lazily rummaged through a drawer in his nightstand until he found a carton of cigarettes and his blue lighter. The singer lit his cigarette and brought it to his pink lips before settling back into the crook of Ronnie’s neck. The drummer crinkled his nose in disgust when the foul smoke reached him, but said nothing; Brandon didn’t seem to notice, so he continued. Despite the smell, Ronnie thought Brandon looked amazing, more mature. He was head-over-heels in love. He wished that this week would never end so he didn't have to go back to London and be around his other two bandmates. It’s not like Ronnie disliked Mark and Dave, but he knew that with them around he and Brandon couldn't be so intimate. However, the drummers plan to win over Brandon seemed to be working, so he shut his eyes and listened to the singer’s peaceful breathing.
After both men had gotten up, Ronnie found himself running errands for Brandon. He was glad to do it though-originally Brandon himself was going to go but the drummer insisted on going for him since he had work that night. The singer had given him a list of things he needed (such as nectarines, shampoo, toothpaste, etcetera) and sent Ronnie off. Brandon felt kind of bad for letting Ronnie do this for him, but he was tired; if he was going to work that night he didn't want to go shopping. So Ronnie gladly helped Brandon with his shopping, but the singer still felt like he was being too needy.
When Ronnie returned he heard a sweet synth line from outside as he fumbled with his key (the one from the plant had made its way to Ronnie’s keyring). Upon entering, the drummer found Brandon sitting by the coffee table again, playing a chord then writing it down. The singer gleamed at Ronnie when he went in, but continued the work he was doing. Ronnie imagined that Brandon was working on the song, Everything Will Be Alright, that they were playing the previous day. They had named the song earlier that morning; Ronnie wanted to call it Exitlude, but Brandon had said that they needed an Enterlude to go with it and suggested to name the song after it’s chorus. The drummer agreed, but only after Brandon promised they could have an “Enterlude and Exitlude” on the next album.
“How’s it going?” Ronnie asked, setting his bags down on the counter.
“Good!” The singer replied from his spot on the floor, “but it still needs something. I'm sorry for making you go out for me.”
“Brandon,” Ronnie sad. “If you say sorry one more time, I'm going to throw a nectarine at you. I swear to God I will.” He raised his hand with a single nectarine in it.
“Well…” Brandon said, cautiously, “I love nectarines, I'm-FUCK!” The singer was pelted by his favorite fruit, but quickly recovered. “I didn't even say it!” Said Brandon as he unpeeled the fruit and plucked a piece into his mouth.
“But you were going to,” Ronnie said, returning to the living area and laying down on the couch across from Brandon. “And the thought is enough for me.”
Later, at ten in the night, Brandon bid Ronnie farewell and left in his car. An hour after that, the drummer went to sleep, wishing that the singer was there with him. But, five hours into his slumber, Brandon returned. The bedroom door cracked open, letting in a stream of artificial light from the hall; Brandon peered in.
“Ronnie? Are you asleep?”
“Yes.”
“I need you to come here for a sec.”
“Brandon, are you aware that it is three in the morning?”
“I figured out how to finish the song and I wanna show you. Come here.”
Ronnie sighed, “Can you show me in the morning?”
Brandon whined by the door, “Ronnie…”
Grumbling, Ronnie threw the blanket over his body and reluctantly rose. He slowly stumbled to the door and followed the skipping boy to the living room. Ronnie sat on the couch as usual, and Brandon plopped himself down on the floor behind his keyboard. Playing the same notes as he always did, he began to sing, “I believe in you and me… I'm coming to find you… If it takes me all night… Wrong until you make it right… And I won't forget you… At least I'll try… and run, and run tonight.” He played the rest of the song the way they always did, and when he finished he looked at the drummer with expectant eyes.
Ronnie yawned, “it sounds great, it really does- but can we go to sleep now?”
Brandon nodded, turning off his keyboard and following Ronnie to their bedroom. Once again, he changed his clothes, then got in bed next to Ronnie, resuming the position they laid in the day before. Brandon's head on the drummer’s chest, Ronnies arm around Brandon.
They loved every second of it.
The next day continued in a similar way, starting with the two men lying lazily in bed and Brandon eventually pulling out a cigarette. Again, they did what they had done the day before except Brandon was the one who left instead of Ronnie. When the singer returned, Ronnie was flabbergasted. All Brandon had done was get a haircut, but it changed his appearance in so many ways. His had been cut from its shaggy length and was styled up, revealing blonde streaks at the tips from where he and Dave had bleached their hair together.
Ronnie had never wanted to kiss the boy more than he did at that moment.
That night when Brandon returned home, he nuzzled into the drummer like he usually did and Ronnie played with his hair for what seemed like hours. Ronnie's heart ached for more-he wanted to be able to love Brandon. Ronnie even wanted things that seemed so innocent and insignificant, like giving the singer a sweet kiss before he left for work. The drummer wanted Brandon more than anything else. But, just like anything else, he had to work for it-and it was killing him.
Two days later, they found themselves having dinner on Brandon’s couch.
“You need a dining table, dude.” Ronnie said, taking a bite of his orange chicken.
“Nah,” Brandon said, stretching his legs and propping them up on his coffee table. “This is fine. When are we going to The Hearse?” The Hearse was a recording studio in California; the band was planning on meeting there to finish their album.
“It only takes an hour to fly there. I’m gonna buy the tickets when Dave gives me the money.” Ronnie saw no problem with his statement.
“No!” Brandon exclaimed, looking panicked. “I don't want to fly to Berkeley.”
Ronnie looked confused, “What do you mean? There isn't another way, Brandon-” The singer smirked smugly at Ronnie. “-Brandon no. No.” Brandon’s smile did not fade. “Don’t look at me like that.”
Brandon pouted like a child trying to get his way, “I don't wanna go in the plane, Ron. We’ll have fun!”
“Brandon, I don't want to drive you ten hours to California- STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT!” Ronnie tried to hide his smile behind an annoyed facade.
“I never said you had to drive the whole way, Ronald.” Brandon picked through his rice, looking sad, “We can drive through Reno-I've never been.”
“No offense, Brandon, but I wouldn't trust you to drive me to the McDonald’s down the road,” Ronnie said.
“Hey!” Brandon took offense, “I drove from Nephi to Vegas when I was sixteen-that’s four hours!”
“Brandon,” Ronnie placed his hand on the singer’s knee. “You can't even park straight.”
“Nobody is perfect!” Brandon reasoned.
“You can't avoid planes forever,” Ronnie said seriously.
The singer’s face fell, “I know. I've been looking into getting some pills or something to help with that.” He sighed-if he wanted to live his dream he couldn't evade planes forever, “I heard if you take two allergy pills you knock right out but I really don't want to purposely overdose on something I don't need in the first place.”
“I'll figure out something for you before we leave for London again,” Ronnie reassured Brandon, who grew silent.
“Does this mean you'll drive me to Berkeley?” Ronnie groaned.
"Yes, I'll drive you to Berkeley. We'll have to leave sooner, though." Ronnie pondered for a moment, "We're supposed to be there next Saturday, so we can get up early on Friday and stay in a motel when we get there. Is that good with you?"
Brandon thought about it for a minute, “that sounds amazing.” He looked Ronnie in the eye, "thank you, Ron. I really appreciate this. We’ll have fun, I promise.” Ronnie was both excited and nervous about his road trip with Brandon.
Their week went by at a steady pace-not too slow or fast. Nothing much happened, and Ronnie honestly felt a little bored. The only moment of excitement happened when Ronnie stayed up until three in the morning on Brandon’s last day of work. The drummer surprised him with two wine glasses filled with Brandon’s favorite soft drink: Coke. Ronnie found himself enjoying his time at the singer’s apartment now that Brandon wasn't tired all the time. He also preferred Brandon going to bed with him at a decent time, and Ronnie found that one of his favorite times of day was the morning when he and Brandon would enjoy each other’s company in bed.
The week continued, however, and Ronnie found himself waiting by his truck for Brandon to lock his apartment so that they could leave for California. The singer fiddled with his keys at the door, then made sure that his car was locked before joining Ronnie by the truck. Ever since his car was stolen a year or two prior, Brandon was always paranoid that someone was going to take his new one. Having very little money to begin with, it made sense in Ronnie’s mind that Brandon worried about these things, but the singer could get a little obsessive sometimes.
A pair of black aviator sunglasses sat atop Brandon's head. Under his denim jacket, the singer wore a Morrissey tour shirt; Ronnie would later learn was from 1997 when Brandon was sixteen. They both climbed into Ronnie's truck and, after putting his sunglasses on correctly, Brandon flashed the drummer his crooked smile. Ronnie didn't think Brandon could get any more adorable.
Luckily, Ronnie's truck had a cassette player, so Brandon brought enough cassettes to fill the ten hour ride. As he drove, Ronnie listened to Brandon’s sweet voice as he sang along to the tapes from his childhood. Brandon’s voice now was different from the one he used on stage-he was more laid back. He didn't need to do anything to impress the drummer, so Brandon’s voice was soft and looser than what Ronnie was used to. That didn't mean he didn't like it, though; knowing that he was one of the few people that witnessed the younger man like this, the drummer considered himself lucky. Ronnie didn't know the words to all of the songs that Brandon had, but when a familiar one came up he would sing along. Apart from that, the drummer mostly stayed quiet during his drive. Obviously, Brandon couldn't sing forever, so his soft voiced hushed and with no one to change the tapes, so did the car. Ronnie spared the singer a glance once he got the chance and saw that Brandon was asleep, his sunglasses pushing uncomfortably against the bridge of his nose and his mouth slightly agape. Ronnie chuckled at the sight and kept driving.
Eventually the sun fell and Ronnie grew tired of driving. Miraculously, the drummer saw a sign leading to an abandoned airfield. He pulled off the highway and parked far enough away from the road that the light pollution from the cars would not obstruct their view of the stars. After unbuckling his seatbelt, the drummer lightly nudged Brandon, who mumbled something to Ronnie.
“Brandon, wake up,” Ronnie said as he shook Brandon. “The stars are out.”
Brandon peeked at the drummer with bleary eyes and a tired voice, “aren’t they always?”
“Well, duh,” the drummer said. “But have you ever really looked at them?” The singer gave Ronnie a skeptical look. “Have you ever seen the lights?” Brandon sluggishly rolled down his window and stuck his head out. A huge grin broke out on his face-he had not seen stars like that in a very long time; not since he lived in Utah. Not even the stars in London compared to the ones he saw now.
Brandon unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the car door to get a better view and Ronnie did the same. The drummer rummaged through the truck’s backseat for a moment before finding two blankets. He spread one across the hood of the truck and was about to do the same with the other until he saw Brandon. The singer stood in the middle of the runway, his head arched back as he stared at the sky above. Brandon’s arms were wrapped around his torso and he was shivering. Ronnie walked up behind the cold singer and draped his second blanket across his shoulders. Brandon looked back in surprise and the drummer took his hand, leading him back to the truck. Ronnie helped the shorter man onto the hood before climbing up himself.
The two laid like that for a few moments before Brandon pointed to the sky and exclaimed, “Look, Ron! A shooting star-make a wish!” The singer clenched his eyes shut to make his wish, but Ronnie simply turned to stare at him. Brandon’s features were illuminated by the moon and he had a look of peace on his face as he searched his soul for his wish. When he was finished, the singer opened his dark eyes and looked to Ronnie.
“What did you wish for?” Ronnie was looking at it, but decided to humor him.
“If I tell you it won't come true,” he said, smirking.
Realization washed across Brandon’s face, “oh, yeah. I guess that’s true. Better not tell me, then.”
Ronnie turned his gaze back to the stars, “I’m sure you'll find out one day.”
“Ronnie,” the singer said seriously. “I'm going to spend the rest of my life trying to figure out what you just asked that star for.” Ronnie’s face now had a look of pure joy, and his eyes slid closed.
“I don't doubt it, Brandon,” he said. “Not for a single moment.” Their hands were laying right next to each other, and Ronnie was dying to close the gap, but he didn't.
Later that night after leaving the airfield, Ronnie found their motel. He parked, paid for their room, and escorted Brandon and their luggage inside. The room had two beds, an incredibly small kitchen, a small table to eat at, and two sets of nightstands. Wordlessly, the drummer decided that he would claim the bed on the far end of the room, leaving the other one for Brandon. After an hour of getting settled, both men went to sleep. Ronnie was incredibly close to falling asleep, but then Brandon opened his mouth.
“Ronnie? Are you awake?” Brandon asked from the darkness.
“Yeah,” the drummer replied, tired.
“Can I come over there?” Ronnie was confused for a moment before realizing what the singer was asking. After two weeks of sharing his bed with Ronnie, the drummer assumed Brandon would be glad to have his own bed, but he was wrong. Brandon was lonely.
Ronnie chuckled softly and pat the empty room next to him, “Get over here, kid.” Brandon quickly got out of his bed and scurried over to Ronnie’s. The drummer held out his arm and Brandon crawled in next to him. Ronnie pulled the singer in closer to his body and Brandon rested his head on his chest.
The singer sighed deeply, “Goodnight, Ronnie.”
“Goodnight, Brandon. I-” Ronnie nearly said the three words that had been bubbling up inside him for a month, but he caught himself. “I'll see you in the morning.”
The following day, Ronnie was ejected from his slumber by sunbeams streaming through the window. It was eleven in the morning, which was a late time to be waking up, but the drummer brushed it off since he was so tired the night before. He and Brandon had to be at the studio at one, so they didn't have time to lay around like they usually did. Ronnie nudged the sleeping singer, “Brandon, wake up.”
Brandon stirred, but didn't open his eyes, “Nooo…”
“We have to be at the studio in two hours-we can't stay in bed forever,” Ronnie said softly. “Look what we have become-I was a functioning member of society before I met you. Now I'm a couch potato… a bed potato!”
Brandon giggled, “yeah… that’s true.”
Shortly after, the two got up and got ready. Before going to the studio, Ronnie had the idea to eat breakfast at a dinner that was close by. Brandon ordered waffles.
When they arrived at the studio, their other two bandmates were there waiting; Brandon felt nervous for a reason he couldn't pinpoint. It might of been because he had not seen Dave since before the incident at Brandon’s apartment; it might of been because he and Ronnie were debuting the last song for the album.
“Brandon!” Dave exclaimed when Ronnie and the singer entered the studio, “Long time no see! How have you been? I wouldn't know since you don't answer my calls,” Dave embraced Brandon, who returned the gesture.
“Well, you know me,” Brandon said. “I can't afford caller ID.”
“I still don't understand how someone can't afford caller ID,” Ronnie interjected. “It’s not like it's a new thing-I'm pretty sure most phones come with caller ID.”
From the other side of the room Mark chuckled lightly and a man familiar to The Killers entered. The man had tattoos adorning his arms and a bald head- his name was Jeff Saltzman. He was the owner of The Hearse, and had been helping the boys record their album throughout most of 2003.
Having already spoken to Mark and Dave when they arrived, Jeff turned his attention to Ronnie and Brandon. “Hello, boys,” he said as he clapped both of their shoulders. “I heard you drove here-does this have anything to do with a phone call Braden told me about a few weeks back?” Braden was the band’s hot headed manager. Once Brandon had landed in Vegas after his horrific plane ride home from London, the singer had called Braden and proclaimed that the band would never fly again.
Brandon chuckled nervously, “Oh, you know Braden,” he said. “Always blowing things out of proportion.”
“That’s true,” Jeff agreed. “Anyway, Dave told me you two were cooking up something for Hot Fuss.” Oh, Brandon had almost forgotten about that.
“Yeah, it’ll be the last one on the album. Ronnie and I worked on it,” the singer said. “We can't play the whole thing because Dave doesn't know the guitar part and Ronnie is on drums, but it’s mostly done.” The producer motioned for the band to file into the recording room where the instruments were kept. Once he was ready to begin, Ronnie looked to Brandon to see if he was ready. After a moment of hesitation, they began. Before the second chorus, Ronnie stopped playing his tambourine and reached for his guitar. Still tapping the foot pedal on his drums, Ronnie began to strum. As he sang, Brandon smiled at the sight of Ronnie’s intense concentration.
Once they were done, the room went silent; Brandon began to worry that no one said anything because they hated it. Finally, Dave spoke, “Well, I would've never thought of it-that’s for sure.”
Brandon was confused, “Is that good?”
“Yes,” Jeff said. “That’s very good-it’s beautiful. You two did a very good job.” The singer beamed at Ronnie.
With the album technically finished except for a professional recording of Everything Will Be Alright, the band could celebrate before going back to England. Brandon thought celebrating was a good idea until Dave suggested going to a bar a little ways down the road. The thought made the singer freeze, and he realized that he had not had anything to drink in the almost month that Ronnie had been staying with him. Ronnie noticed Brandon’s sudden apprehension and distanced himself from the conversation so he could talk to him. The drummer slipped into the lobby with Brandon and bent down slightly to look him in the eye.
“Are you okay?” Ronnie asked. Brandon tried to speak, but couldn't find the words. “Listen, every once in awhile it’s okay, but if you don't want to go I'll stay with you.”
“I don't want to seem rude, though,” The singer reasoned.
“Then we can both go and I'll make sure you don't drink too much. Or, I can make sure you don't drink at all- it’s your choice.”
Brandon thought about it for a moment, “Maybe… just a glass of wine. I don't wanna ruin anyone else’s fun.” So that’s what Brandon did- he went to the bar and once the actual glass was in his hand, he only stared at it. Ronnie, of course, noticed the look of dull fear in his eyes, but Brandon simply flashed him a short, small smile and took a sip. The thing Brandon didn't know was how sensitive to alcohol someone became once they went dry for a month. The second the sweet wine went down his throat, Brandon felt a lightness he had not felt in what seemed to be forever. Eventually the singer slumped back into the corner of the booth he shared with his friends, still taking slow sips of his first (and only) glass. Ronnie, who was sitting next to him, kept a close eye on the silent man, but did not take the glass from him-the drummer couldn’t anticipate what reaction Brandon would have if he were to do so.
During a lull in the conversation, Dave pointed aimlessly into the crowd. “Does anyone here… suit you, Ronnie?” The drummer in question raised a brow at Dave.
“What does that mean?” He asked after taking a sip from his glass.
Dave shrugged, “I dunno… I just know you haven't seen anyone recently. Maybe we can take you to a gay strip club. I’m sure there’s one in the town-”
“You aren't taking me to a strip club, Dave. I'm fine,” Ronnie glanced at Brandon- no one noticed.
“There are probably some guys in this place that you’d like. I mean look at that dude-” Dave pointed to a man with vibrantly colored hair, “-he totally looks gay!” Ronnie stared at the man then looked back at Dave.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Dave threw his arms up in the air.
“I’M TRYING!”
Brandon, who had been drinking quietly for most of his time at the bar, decided to join the conversation. The singer leaned over to Ronnie and placed his head in the crook of the drummer’s neck, giggling uncontrollably. Dave snorted at the sight, then hid his smirk behind his own glass. Brandon was completely out of it-Ronnie hoped that he wouldn't be angry with him the next morning.
He shouldn't of worried, though. Brandon could never be angry at Ronnie.
Another week passed, and Ronnie relished the final days he would get to stay with Brandon. He had also found the singer a medication that would help him stay calm and hopefully fall asleep when they went on their trip to London. Despite being afraid to fly, Brandon was actually excited to go back to England. This would be his first time regularly touring, and even though The Killers were just opening for another band, Brandon thought it was amazing. For the third time in two months, the band found themselves at the Las Vegas Airport. Brandon, having taken as many pills that he could without dying, was feeling quite good. He boarded the plane and fell asleep before they even took off.
Touring, however, was not as amazing as the singer imagined it to be. Cramped in a small van, the band rode across Europe and played for what seemed to be a month straight. It was the most tiring thing Brandon had ever done, but he knew it was the right thing to do. Their popularity was growing, so it wouldn't be long until they got an actual tour bus. The thought of living comfortably in a bus made Brandon a little less unhappy about being stuck in a van. There was only one thing the singer would miss about being in a van, and that was sitting next to Ronnie all day.
But he could always do that in a bus, too.