Another Day In Paradise | Danny Johnson x Reader

Boy, Do You Regret This

Saying you were a ball of anxiety was an understatement. Your arms were crossed tightly over your chest, head bent, pacing back and forth in front of your door waiting for your inevitable demise. This night was going to be a disaster, you could already tell; why the hell had you even decided to go? If it was an option, you would have backed out now and saved both you and Brahms the trouble, but you had made the mistake of telling your father about the thing and now he was insisting you went to 'socialize' and 'make friends' and all that bullshit. So, yeah- you were stuck. You didn't know what to wear to parties (hell, you'd hardly ever even been to one other than some birthdays) so you had taken a total shot in the dark with a pair of blue jeans, a red t-shirt, and a 90s style windbreaker thrown overtop to swaddle you in as much comfort as possible. You hoped that this wasn't underdressed, but you no longer had time to change it as your phone began to ring and you saw Brahms was calling. With one deep breath you accepted the call and held the phone up to your ears, nerves buzzing throughout your whole body and fear fogging up your head.

"Hey, Brahms," You say and force a thin smile, scraping a hand through your hair and checking your pockets for your keys.

"I'm outside. Come out whenever you're ready." 

"Thanks, I'll be there in no time." With that quick conversation you hung up the phone and jammed it into your back pocket, sucking a quick breath through your teeth. You reach for the front door handle with slightly trembling hands and swallow the rising lump in your throat. "I'm going!" You call, and pray for some reason that no one answers so you have an excuse to go back into the house, searching for your brother and father individually to say your goodbyes- or, maybe, you'd find one dead and have to cancel this whole thing. Anything to waste time. 

"Alright kiddo! See ya!" Your dad's voice echoes from the basement and you grimace, mimicking his farewell quietly, irritated, to yourself before pulling open the door and forcing your two shaky legs to carry you through it. Brahms was sitting in his car right out front of your house, waiting patiently as expected. You shut the door behind you, checking one last paranoid time for keys and phone, and then made for the car itself. You looked instinctively to your right to see Billy on the porch as usual, offering a wave and a nervous little smile that he returned with one of his own; Claude was on his lap just like he always was. Reaching the car, you pulled open the passenger door and slid into the seat with a heavy sigh that trailed off into an annoyed groan. 

"I can't believe we're actually doing this," You say, and slam the door with a little more force than you'd meant. Brahms pulls the car back into drive, letting his foot down nice and easy on the gas pedal.

"I told you we should have just skipped it. I hate to say it but this," Brahms pauses, letting the emphasis sink in, "Is on you." His eyes are alight with a jumpy amusement, the same anxiety that must be crackling like lightning in your own. Brahms was fitted with a tan cardigan and a black t-shirt and jeans, his usual type of clothing with a few different colours you'd never seen him mix before. He was drumming his index finger obsessively on the steering wheel as he said, "I've never gone to a party before. Nothing like this, at least. My mother and father think I'm staying over at Norman's for the night." 

"Don't worry, big guy," You reach over and pat his arm, "I'm just as terrified as you are. I hope you know how much I regret this stupid decision," Your head tips to thunk against the back of your seat and you run both hands over your face, fighting back the urge to huff and puff and complain away until you talked Brahms' ears right off. The purring of the cars engine would have been soothing if you could hear it over the sound of your own heart thudding in your throat like a drum, but now it served useless. 

"Yeah, I can tell. We'll suffer together, I guess." The rest of the ride runs seamless, both of you chattering nervously back and forth for what seems like ages as the sun begins to sink for the horizon, painting the sky dark blues and bright golds in a way that might have resembled one of your dads paintings. Brahms followed the brief directions you'd texted him (and which you had gotten from Danny, ever-reluctant for you to be invited) with practiced ease, knowing the layout of his hometown like the back of his own hand. It was a drive no longer than 20 minutes but it seemed to slink by way too fast. Before you knew it, you were balling your hands into fists on your lap and staring up at a house that was definitely holding a party. You could hear music booming like the heartbeat of a giant beast, it's mouth wide open and entirely uninviting. You could see the people through the windows, the sheer multitude of them, and it would be a surprise if any kid in town wasn't here right now to gawk at you in the most unfamiliar place you've ever been.