𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐑𝐘 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐑

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍

Moving into that god awful box of a suite is miserable. Ezra is thankful, however, that he doesn't have to share a room with any of his bandmates. It's clear they were given the nicer suite of the two, since it is their label after all. That being said, the singer refuses to let himself enjoy any part of this arrangement.

Even worse is the fact that he now has Jude and Ambrose breathing down his neck every goddamn second of the day. They haven't been in that suite for nearly a week and he's already getting interrogated every other hour about whether or not he's truly serious about being a willing participant in his own imprisonment.

If he got asked one more time if he liked the place, Ezra would explode.What's the fucking point of him enjoying this, anyway? He's not even allowed to take a shit without someone supervising. 

Though this "opportunity," as Jeff called it, is supposed to spark some sort of change in the male, Ezra isn't willing to go down without a fight. So, it's really no surprise that he wakes up with a splitting headache and an unbearable hangover Monday morning. His alarm had to be ringing a solid forty-five minutes before Ambrose finally took it upon himself to wake him up.

"You're supposed to be watching the girls play in thirty minutes," he reminds gently, still hesitant around the male since their altercation. If Ezra wasn't nearly incapacitated by his current condition, he may have been more perceptive to the feeling that his bandmate is afraid of him.

"Yeah, I know," he grumbles, palms moving to press at his eyes before he shifts to get out of bed. "Whose grand idea was it to start at nine?"

Ambrose can't help but let out a soft chuckle. "Actually, it was yours. You always were the one who said the earlier the better." Ezra catches the subtle hint of nostalgia in his tone. Now, he can't tell whether it's the hangover or guilt making him feel like shit. Before he can say anything else, Ambrose exits and closes the door behind him.

✧*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ

Somehow, he manages to sober up and make himself presentable enough to visit his opening act. The record label's building is conveniently located right across the street from the practice space they're renting out, which makes his late start undetectable.

With a coffee in hand, the male pushes the doors open to their assigned room. To his surprise, the girls are already set up and are halfway through a song. His eyes move to the nearest clock. 𝟿:𝟶𝟹 𝙰𝙼. Jesus, they didn't waste a minute. Part of him remembers when he was like that; thirsty for the stage. Now, he can't even remember that euphoria.

A few of the girls catch a glimpse of his entrance and begin to taper off their playing. Billie is so clearly in tune with the music that she notices the shift in pace rather than him. She turns towards her bandmate, offering an inaudible remark which causes them to point at the male in return.