Panic! (But Not in a Disco Sort of Way)(ON HOLD)

1. Nate

  
"I'm not as think as you drunk I am,"

-"Don't Threaten Me With A Good Time", Panic! At the Disco

  "Shots! Shots! Shots!" the group surrounding Nate roared. He looked at his best friend, Lucas, and laughed as Lucas downed another glass. Nate did the same, the tequila burning his throat. The burning was soon replaced by the intoxicated feeling that only alcohol could induce. "Yeah!" Nate shouted into the bar. "Best weekend ever!" The crowd cheered in drunken agreement. Nate looked at his phone, trying to read the time, but the numbers swam across the screen. Uh oh. What remained of his rational brain told him to call it a night, and for the first time that night, the rest of him agreed. He could feel his stomach churning and regretted taking that last round. And maybe the five before it. All he knew was that he had to get back to his hotel room so he could spend the rest of the night vomiting into the toilet. "A-alright, g-guys," Nate started, his speech slurred. "I-I think I-I'm g-g-gonna head out." But his friends didn't hear him. Lucas was reaching for another shot, and Brendon was talking with some random chick.

     Nate didn't care anymore. All that mattered was getting back to his hotel room. Then he could puke his guts out. He stepped out in the cold New York City air. He breathed in the smell of gasoline and fumes, which didn't help his already battered stomach. He tried to hold it in but gave up as he lurched to the side and threw up in a trash can. He wiped his mouth. Even as wasted as he was, he knew that this was not a great look. He started walking again in the general direction of his hotel. Finally, a familiar Holiday Inn came into view. He entered, bought a water bottle, and got in the elevator. Nate struggled to keep his eyes open; his eyelids were so heavy. All he wanted to do was pass out. He somehow managed to get off the elevator and pull his room key from his pocket. He fumbled with it once he reached his doors. The world was violently spinning, and Nate felt like he was spinning right along with it. The last thing he remembered was collapsing on the floor of the bathroom as the world slowly faded from view.

. . .

     Nate woke up and groaned. His head felt as if he had been hit multiple times by a bus. He opened his eyes and regretted it immediately. The bright lights of the bathroom were blinding, and his headache somehow increased, which he didn't think was possible. He was proved wrong when he tried to sit up. He reached into his back pocket, searching for his phone. He pulled it out and checked the time. 12:45 P.M. His eyes widened. Oh crud... my flight! Nate noticed that he had at least a hundred texts. He quickly checked them. The first 90 or so were meaningless drunk texts from his friends. But he scrolled down to find that they'd texted him earlier this morning, too. At six A.M., to be exact.

Brendon: Hey, dude. You coming?!?

Brendon: You have to get up. We r going to miss our flight!!

Brendon: Srsly? Cm on! Its not funny bro

Brendon: The uber is here

Brendon: If ur not down in 5 we r leaving

Brendon: Fine. See you at home

Lucas: Brooo we gots to go!

Lucas: Come on, im sure our headaches are worse than yours

Lucas: Duuude were leaving without u

Lucas: We r at the airport about 2 board. Last chance!

Lucas: We just took off. Man, the Professors will be triggered if u dont get home somehow

     Nate almost laughed. Out of all his friends, he was the one who had missed their flight. If he had been Brendon or Lucas, it would've made sense. But him? Nate? That was ridiculous. He was surprised that Brendon hadn't missed the flight because he was trying to buy a girl a drink. Or Lucas, for that matter, who always drank too much whenever they went out. But him? He was the responsible one. Nate would be the first to volunteer as the designated driver. Of course, this time there was no need for that, not in New York, where they could walk pretty much everywhere.