Hopeless Haze - Vol. I: Hot Fuss (Chapter Three)
Volume I: Hot Fuss
Chapter Three: I Believe In You and Me
By the end of their week in London, The Killers were tired. After playing shows for six days straight, the four were glad to get home to Las Vegas. Even though Brandon loved London (and hated planes) he was glad to be heading for the airport. The singer may not of been very nervous about his upcoming plane ride, but he did feel tense due to some events that happened earlier that morning. Brandon woke from a dream (that had to do with a certain drummer) that he never thought he would ever have feeling particularly satisfied if not embarrassed. He was now sitting next to said drummer-feeling shameful about the feelings he felt hours earlier.
Despite the incident at their first London concert, the other shows went surprisingly well. Each night Brandon would recognize faces from the night before and he would see more and more new faces as the week progressed. The lighters that he had found in Dave’s duffel bag were given away at the first concert; they were meant for the last show but the guitarist passed them out after Ronnie whisked Brandon away to avoid awkwardness with the crowd.
Brandon felt no nerves when they arrived at the airport. Seemingly over his fear of flying, he was in a cheery mood. The day continued without a hitch and before he knew it, Brandon found himself boarding the plane. As he walked through the tunnel Dave ran up next to him in a hurry.
“Change of plans-you'll be sitting next to me this time, okay?” The guitarist said, not seeing a problem with his words.
“Why?” Brandon asked defensively, “What happened?”
“Nothing,” Dave said. “Nothing happened. I just had a talk with Ronnie and we decided to switch places.” Brandon felt hurt at the implication that Ronnie didn't want to sit next to him. Did it have anything to do with the talk that they had a week earlier? The singer felt an anxiousness rise inside of him.
“Oh… okay. That’s fine, I guess.” It wasn’t fine.
After waiting on the plane next to Dave for an hour or two, they took off. Brandon looked back to Ronnie, who was sound asleep. The singer had tried to fall asleep before takeoff, but was unable to. Similarly to when he took off a week ago, Brandon turned his gaze to the window outside. This time he didn't see mountains, but a bustling city shining in the morning light. Brandon knew he couldn't get a bottle of wine with Dave next to him, so he had to either wait it or fall asleep. He definitely wasn't going to fall asleep.
Six hours into the flight, the singer was exhausted. All of his bandmates (except Mark, who was reading) were asleep. Brandon found himself tapping a looping melody on his armrest; he was calm for the most part, but what happened next would stick with him for years.
The plane dropped out of the sky-he was going to die.
It all happened so fast, but Brandon remembered seeing people not in their seats flying up and air masks dropping from their places above seats. People screamed, cried, and prayed to whatever God they believed in. Brandon was so terrified that his mind slowed-not a thought ran through his head but these three:
He was going to die. He was going to die and he had done something so terrible to Ronnie that Ronnie didn't want to sit next to him. Ronnie didn't love him anymore.
Brandon decided dying alone wasn't something he wanted to do.
Eventually the plane came to a stop, but not on the ocean. The plane halted mid-air and steadied-a pilot’s voice came over the loudspeaker and apologized.
That apology wasn't enough for Brandon.
Later, the plane landed safely and if it weren't for Dave, Brandon would've bolted off immediately. After retrieving their bags, the band made plans for meeting again on a later date to finish their album, and promised to keep in touch. Everyone parted ways in separate cabs, but when Brandon finally got home he felt empty.
A week later, Ronnie Vannucci got a phone call.
“Hello?” He answered.
“Ronnie, it’s Dave. I need a favor?” Oh, it was the curly-haired freak that Ronnie considered as a friend.
“What can I do for you?”
“It’s about Brandon.” That wasn't good. Dave sounded hurried-and scared? “I’ve been checking in on him this past week and today he didn't answer his phone. I must've called him one-hundred times but he hasn’t answered.”
“Well,” Ronnie replied. “What do you want me to do? Call him up and tell him to stop ignoring you?”
“That won’t work-do you think he can afford caller ID?” Dave was right, Ronnie realized. Brandon couldn't have had caller ID. “I would love it if you could go and check on him-I would but I live further away and I’m tied up in something right now.”
Ronnie sighed, “Alright, Keuning. I'll check in on the kid. Is that all?”
“There’s a spare key hidden in a house plant next to the door. In the dirt.”
That was weird. “Okay, I'll get going. You owe me, ‘kay?”
“Yeah, just hurry. Call me when you know he’s alright.” Dave hung up without a goodbye-how rude!
Already dressed, Ronnie grabbed the keys to his truck and made his way out of the house he shared with a few other of his friends from his university. Even though he only lived ten minutes away, Ronnie found himself going slightly over the speed limit. He was worried-Dave sounded genuinely afraid when he talked to him on the phone. Since when was Dave scared? When it came to Brandon, Dave did tend to be a worrier-but only in private. When Brandon’s apartment building came into sight, Ronnie unconsciously gripped the steering wheel tighter. When the drummer arrived, he noticed the singer’s car in its usual parking spot. Ronnie didn't know whether this relieved him or not, knowing that Brandon was home also meant that Brandon might of been purposely ignoring Dave’s calls. The drummer hastily exited his own vehicle and flew up the stairs to Brandon’s apartment. It was then when Ronnie realized that he had never actually been inside the younger man’s apartment-just the outside. He knocked on the door that Dave had said was Brandon’s, and when he got no answer he knocked harder. After five minutes of knocking and calling for the singer, Ronnie resorted to finding the spare key that Dave had told him about. The drummer digged through the dirt of a potted plant next to the door until he felt a tiny metal object inside-the key. With a jittering hand, Ronnie inserted the key and entered the apartment.
Ronnie didn't observe the inside of the apartment too closely, but found himself in a living room. The drummer did notice that the apartment was much smaller than it seemed from the outside. Before he could look too intently at his surroundings, he heard Brandon’s terrible sobs coming from the kitchen. Ronnie rushed to where he heard the noise and what he saw broke his heart. Brandon, looking smaller than usual, was huddled in a corner of his kitchen. His knees were pulled up to his face, obscuring it, but Brandon shook as he sobbed. The singer slowly looked up to meet Ronnie’s concerned gaze; the drummer took note of Brandon’s red, wet face.
“Ron?” Brandon’s eyes jumped to a bottle of bourbon on floor, completely empty except for a splash of liquid in the bottom, and began to weep again, “I'm so s-s-sorry.”
Ronnie had never seen someone in such a state before. Brandon cried into his knees; his hair pointing in every direction, his hands trembling. The drummer approached the sobbing man in a matter that someone would to a scared, hurt animal. Ronnie leaned down and sat next to Brandon, putting his arm around the distraught man.
“I'm so so so s-sorry.” Brandon said in a raw voice, still sobbing. “I promised D-Dave I’d be b-better but I'm just not good enough.” Ronnie didn't know what to say to comfort the man, so he stayed quiet and listened to his story. “I thought just a little would be okay… b-but I couldn't stop,” Brandon’s red, teary eyes stared deeply into Ronnie’s.
“I think there’s something w-wrong with me.”
Ronnie placed a long, gentle kiss to the singer’s forehead, “there isn't a single thing wrong with you, Brandon.” He whispered, hugging Brandon, “you’re just in a bad spot-and that happens to everyone.”
“N-No,” Brandon’s speech was muffled due to him now crying into Ronnie’s shoulder. “I broke a p-promise. Daves gonna hate me.” Ronnie suddenly remembered his own broken promise to Dave, and understood where the singer was coming from.
“Brandon, as much as it may not seem, Dave loves you. He cares about you- you being drunk would be the last thing on his mind right now.”
“That’s not true-he thinks I'm w-worthless. He thinks I'm just a w-waste.”
“Brandon, look at me,” Ronnie said. Brandon reluctantly followed his command. “I wouldn’t be here right now if it weren't for Dave. He called me, he was worried sick and he couldn't get here fast enough so he called me and he begged me to come check on you.” The part about begging wasn't entirely true, but it was something the singer needed to hear. “The only person saying that you’re worthless is you, Brandon. You don't believe that, do you?” Brandon returned to Ronnie’s shoulder and shook his head.
“No. I d-don't.” Ronnie pulled Brandon in closer as the singer cried, “I'm s-sorry Ronnie. I'm so sorry.”
Ronnie hushed the singer’s mantra and replaced it with one of his own, “Everything will be alright, Brandon. I swear, everything will be alright.” They sat like that for what might have been hours, but Ronnie didn't mind it. The drummer went to let go of the boy, but Brandon grabbed Ronnie’s hand before he could.
“Don’t go,” the singer whimpered; he wasn’t crying as hard as he was before, but tears still streaked down his face. Ronnie checked the clock on the wall, it was getting late.
“Let’s get you to bed, then,” the drummer took Brandon’s hand-it fit perfectly with his own. Ronnie led him to the room towards the back of the apartment that he assumed was Brandon’s; inside was a bed, a dresser, and a nightstand. It seemed that all of the boy’s apartment was small, even with just three object in his room it was packed. Brandon then took the lead and, still holding Ronnie’s hand, laid down on his bed without bothering to get under the blanket. The drummer scoffed at Brandon, pulling the covers out from under him and laying them on top.
Brandon peered at Ronnie, “well?” He asked weakly. It was then when the drummer realized Brandon’s intention. Ronnie cautiously took off his shoes and crawled into bed next to Brandon. He knew he shouldn't have been nervous; he had laid in bed with the singer before and it wasn't like Brandon was going to start anything with him-he was drunk, after all. Ronnie laid under the blankets with Brandon; the singer’s tired eyes staring into his chocolate ones. Brandon’s next request was one that Ronnie never saw coming.
“Will you sing to me?” It was so simple, but it terrified the drummer. Ronnie thought about it for a minute before deciding on a song. As Ronnie sang, Brandon’s eyes slid shut and he dozed off with a sweet smile on his face. Soon enough, Ronnie followed suit and fell asleep as well.
“I gotta tell ya,
I'll make it better
But I know there's somethin' I needed to say
When I was out, though
Maybe you were better alone
I know I'll make it home.”
When Ronnie awoke early the next morning, Brandon was still asleep in his bed. At first, the drummer was confused as to where he was, but the events of the night before came rushing back like an uncontrollable river. Ronnie turned his attention to the man he shared the bed with-Brandon looked angelic. His face was pale, but calm, and even in his sleep he looked drained. Ronnie decided to let the singer rest long and crawled out of the bed at a slow pace, careful not to wake him. The drummer tiptoed across the room and shut the door behind him as he left, breathing a sigh of relief. Then Ronnie realized that he had never payed attention to the apartment the night before, so he decided to look around. Outside of Brandon’s bedroom was a hallway which lead to the main room and kitchen. In the hall there was a door to Ronnie’s left that went to a bathroom. The walls of the hall was littered with family photos and other miscellaneous people, places, and things.
In the living room was a couch, bookshelf, and small table that Brandon’s record player sat on. Across the room was the bookshelf that held various books, knick-knacks, and the singer’s music collection that consisted of CDs, records, and cassette tapes. What Brandon had the least of was CDs, but the other two categories flourished. Ronnie also noticed several ashtrays in the apartment, but no terrible smell that was usually found in a smoker’s home. Maybe Brandon was an avid candle fan-or he kept a fan on then he indulged himself in his disgusting habit. The living room was separated from the kitchen by a modest island that was connected to the wall on one side. The kitchen wasn't anything special, but it was of good size compared to the rest of the apartment.
Ronnie figured that Brandon would have a terrible hangover whenever he woke up, so he decided to make the singer breakfast. But, on his way to the refrigerator, the drummer noticed the abandoned bottle of bourbon that lay still on the floor. Ronnie picked up the bottle and deduced that Brandon must not of drank the whole thing the night before- he probably started it with it partially empty. Brandon could hardly hold down half a bottle of wine- much less an entire bottle of bourbon. Ronnie promptly found a trashcan and threw the bottle away.
There wasn't much in the singer’s fridge-Ronnie only found a package of bacon, a carton of milk, and a fuck-ton of Coke and booze (along with various take-out boxes full of leftovers). The bacon would have to do.
Maybe an hour after Ron cooked the bacon and ate it (leaving some for Brandon), he heard a scream. The drummer decided that whatever issue Brandon was having was none of his business, but he was confused when the singer emerged from his room wearing his work uniform after a mere seven minutes.
“Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit-” Brandon burst out of his room, but stopped in his tracks when he noticed Ronnie on his couch. The singer looked terrible-his hair disheveled, face still pale, and bags were under his eyes.
“Brandon,” Ronnie said, being careful about the volume of his voice. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Brandon stood utterly confused in the middle of his living room, but Ronnie had to admit-it was kind of funny.
“I'm-I'm going to be late. I have to go-”
“To the Gold Coast?” Ronnie asked. “You think you can go to work like that?”
“I have to,” Brandon explained. “I have to give my notice for quitting and-” Brandon stopped mid-sentence. “What are you doing in my house?”
“You call this a house?” Ronnie joked, “I stayed the night.” An understanding look flooded onto the singer’s face.
“Oh, yeah.”
“I made you breakfast.” Brandon looked back at his island and saw a plate of bacon. He hurriedly grabbed it and headed for the door.
“Thank you so much, Ron. For everything, I mean it.” Brandon went to grab the door handle but stopped, “Will you be here when I get back?”
Ronnie shrugged, “I can be. When will you be back?”
“What day is it?”
“Tuesday.”
Brandon leaned against the doorframe and contemplated for a moment, “In a couple hours.” He said, “maybe at three.”
Ronnie nodded, “Yeah. I'll stay.”
“Good,” Brandon said before leaving. “I wanted to talk about some song stuff.”
Ronnie sat at Brandon’s apartment for who knows how many hours. Throughout the day the drummer listened to some of Brandon’s albums, ordered a pizza, and even went back home for a little bit to change clothes (and grab a bag of extra clothes if he needed to stay with Brandon for any longer) and get his guitar (which he imagined he would need for whatever the singer threw at him later). Brandon did, however, find his way home and met up with Ronnie again at three-thirty. When Ronnie heard keys jingling at the door he perked up, but felt sorry for the kid when he entered his apartment. Without a word, Brandon stumbled to the sofa that Ronnie sat at and collapsed back onto it. Brandon’s head fell into the drummer’s shoulder and groaned.
“I hate my job,” his speech was muffled by Ronnie’s shirt.
“Well,” Ronnie said. “On the bright side, you'll be done soon.” Brandon leaned up and sighed.
“Yeah.”
Ronnie felt sorry for the tired singer, “you know,” He said. “We don't have to work on a song today if you're too tired. I can get home, if you don't want me here.”
“No!” Brandon exclaimed. “Stay, please. This was the only thing keeping me from jumping off a balcony and diving onto Flamingo Road today.” Ronnie shuddered-that was morbid.
“Okay, okay,” the drummer said. “I can stay.” Brandon still looked troubled. “What's wrong?”
Brandon sighed and looked Ronnie in the eye, “I have a… favor to ask of you. I was wondering if you could stay here for a little bit-only if you want to! Only for a couple of days-maybe a week!” Brandon placed a hand on Ronnie’s knee, “I don't want what happened last night to happen again and…”
“You're afraid if you're alone it will?” Ronnie completed the boy’s sentence.
Brandon nodded, “I can't trust myself anymore, Ron. Please stay.” The singer stared at Ronnie with pleading, doe eyes. Ronnie didn't like living with his university “friends” anyway.
“Brandon,” the drummer answered. “I'll stay with you as long as you want me to.” The singer broke out into a huge grin and threw his arms around Ronnie.
“Oh, thank you so much, Ronnie. You won't be stuck here long, I promise.”
Ronnie chuckled, “Brandon, I would stay with you for a year if you asked me with a smile like that. Now, let’s get to that song.”
“Okay,” Brandon said, pulling away from the drummer. “I think Hot Fuss is missing something. We need a better song to end it on. I thought you might have something.” The singer was right-Ronnie did have something.
“Well… yeah. I guess I do have an idea…”
“Great!” Brandon exclaimed. “I'll get my piano-be back in a sec.” Brandon was so excited that he practically jumped from the couch to get his keyboard from a little closet in the hall. When he returned he noticed Ronnie’s guitar.
“Where’d you get that?” He asked, setting the keyboard down on his coffee table and plugging it into the wall.
“It’s mine. I went back home to get it, thought I might need it.” Brandon grabbed the guitar by its neck and handed it to Ronnie before sitting across from him on the ground. He turned the electronic piano on and messed with the settings.
“That’s cool. I thought you could only play the drums.” The singer hit a key on the piano to test out the sound, “I've never been good with anything with strings.”
Ronnie chuckled, “maybe one day I can teach you.”
“Maybe,” Brandon agreed. “So, what do you have?” Ronnie was nervous about showing the singer the verse that he had scrawled down, but handed it over anyway. Brandon gladly took the scrap of paper and read over it eagerly. The drummer noticed the smile on Brandon’s face growing as he read.
“Ronnie…” he said once he had finished. “This is amazing!” Ronnie was shocked at how enthusiastic Brandon was over the few lines that he had written.
“Well, thank you.” He said, “I didn't think it was much of anything, but I'm happy that you're happy.” Brandon played around on his keyboard for a moment before he hit a chord that sounded right. “I wasn't shopping for a doll,” he sang before hitting another chord. “To say the least, I thought I'd seen them all.” Brandon looked up at Ronnie for approval. The drummer nodded and motioned for him to continue, then started strumming on his guitar.
“But then you took me by surprise…” Brandon smiled as he sang, but before he could get out the next line, Ronnie finished it for him.
“I'm dreaming bout those dreamy eyes.” Ronnie couldn't tell if Brandon knew the song was about him or not, but if he was in on it he didn't say anything. The two continued to play whatever came to their minds and took turns singing.
“I never knew, I never knew, so take your suitcase, ‘cause I don't mind.”
“And baby doll, I meant it every time.”
“You don't need to compromise.”
“I'm dreaming bout those dreamy eyes.”
“I never knew, I never knew.”
“But it's alright…” Brandon thought the song was over, but Ronnie kept playing, so he followed the older man’s lead. “Everything will be alright, everything will be alright, everything will be alright…” Ronnie sang this mantra until the song faded out, and when we was done he looked back at Brandon, who was smiling so wide Ronnie thought his face might get stuck like that.
“I love it, “ Brandon said. “I really do-I think it’s amazing. But it’s missing something.” The singer pondered for a minute before giving up. “I dunno. You can't rush these things. Do we have anything to eat?” Brandon stood from his spot from the floor and wandered to the kitchen.
“Yeah,” Ronnie replied. “I ordered pizza earlier-it’s in the fridge.” Brandon gave a thumbs-up to the drummer and opened the fridge, finding a plate of pizza on the inside. The singer microwaved it and joined Ronnie back at the couch.
“Where am I supposed to sleep?” Ronnie asked, stealing a piece of Brandon’s pizza.
The singer shrugged, “I dunno. You can just stay in my bed. It worked out fine last night.” Ronnie was worried Brandon might of said that. The thought both excited and scared Ronnie.
“But-”
“Ronnie,” Brandon said, propping his feet up on the coffee table, carefully avoiding his piano. “If I were worried about it then I wouldn't of asked you to stay in the first place. You aren't sleeping on this couch-I don't even think it’s long enough for you to even do that, anyway.”
“The bed is fine, then.” Said Ronnie after he took a bite of his food, “I'm not complaining. It’s a nice bed.”
“I know, right? It’s amazing-” Brandon was cut off by the ringing of his phone. “Let me see who that is.” As Brandon rose and made his way to the phone, Ronnie remembered Dave. He was supposed to call Dave.
“Hello?” Brandon answered. Ronnie was terrified-Brandon didn't have caller ID. “Dave? Shit. Um… how are things?”
Ronnie motioned for the singer to hand him the phone. “Eat your lunch, Brandon.” The drummer took the phone and leaned against the wall.
“Dave, hello. How are things?.... Yes, I know I forgot to call-I'm sorry. Everything is fine now…. Yes, I'm still at his house. I'm gonna being staying with him for a while….” Brandon listened to the one-sided conversation as he ate, too tired to care that Dave was probably angry at him for breaking his promise.
“Dave, this is a step in the right direction-you should be happy about that!.... Listen, I'm sorry, again. I'll see you next week at the studio. Bran and I are cooking up some good shit.” Ronnie hung up and phone and placed it back onto the dock. “What a drag,” he joked.
“Is he mad at me?” Brandon asked sheepishly, staring at his plate.
Ronnie sighed, “Brandon, no. Dave isn't angry with you. He’s just pissed because I forgot to call him last night and he’s got a stick up his ass.” Brandon nodded and finished his pizza. Ronnie proceeded to go to Brandon’s refrigerator and grabbed every bottle of beer he could.
“What are you doing?” Brandon asked, standing from the sofa.
“You won't be tempted if it’s not there.” Ronnie shut the fridge’s door with his foot and headed for the sink, “now, are you gonna help me pour this out or not? It’ll make you feel better.” They gave a toast for each set of bottles before they disposed of them until the apartment was devoid of alcohol, and the evening was filled with laughter and cheer.
Once they were done it had gotten late (which was because Brandon had a lot of beer and it took forever to uncap and dispose of all of them) and Brandon announced that he would the late shift at the hotel he worked at for the remainder of his time there. The singer was exhausted, but was holding on to the fact that he would get to sleep in the next day. After the singer left with the promise of being back sometime in the early morning, Ronnie decided to return to his house to get more of his things and to explain to his roommates where he had been. They didn't seem to care that the drummer was deserting them for an alcoholic, so Ronnie packed his bags and left promptly. When he got back to Brandon’s apartment, he neatly stacked his suitcases in the closet that the singer kept his piano in. Afterwards, Ronnie decided to shower (Brandon had surprisingly good water pressure), then retired to his side of Brandon’s bed.
Ronnie woke up later that night to the sight of Brandon’s silhouette illuminated by the moonlight streaming in from the window. Ronnie decided to stay quiet, and thought the singer looked beautiful as he stripped off the dirty button-down he had been wearing. Brandon put on a T-shirt and crawled into bed next to Ronnie, sighing deeply. Ronnie’s smile was hidden by the darkness of the room-this he could get used to.