Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw One-Shots

Believe Me

In contrast to your best friends at the Naval Academy, Rooster and Phoenix, you were quiet. Not shy or anti-social. Just quiet. You believed in the two ears to listen, one mouth to speak rule; listen twice as much as you speak. For that reason, you were often left alone at parties. Not that it bothered you, you actually quite enjoyed being a wallflower. You got to watch people fall in love for the first time, or fall out of love, or spend their last time with someone. It made you grateful for all you had.

This day was no different. As the thumping music echoed through the halls of some Naval Academy student's apartment, people's shoes shuffled along the carpeted floors and their backs tried not to knock over the ungodly number of photos on the walls and shelves. You had found yourself what you thought was a piano chair that was pressed up against a wall.

You tapped the red cup with your nude-pink nails, regretting the decision to go out with a group of girls to get gel nails earlier. Your memory of you sitting in that smelly salon was welcomely interrupted by Phoenix's slightly scuffed tennis shoes appeared in your line of sight.

'There you are!' She smiled. You had always been slightly jealous (in the type of way that's I'm-jealous-of-you-but-also-not-because-you're-my-bestie-so-I-love-you kind of way) of the way her dark brown hair always fell so perfectly at her shoulders. She wore a denim jacket, grey cargo pants and a white cropped tank with her callsign embroidered across the front, she was embracing the fact that she was the first girl to have her callsign given to her, and loved the fact she was called Phoenix for her fiery temper. 'I've been looking all over for you!'

'Here I am.' You laughed, calling out over the top of the music. 'You realise you could have called me, right?'

'Wrong. My phone's dead and I can't find a charger for the life of me.' Phoenix grumbled. 'Also, you know who's been looking for you too?'

'Amelia Earhart?' You said, sarcastically.

'Rooster.' Phoenix bent down to your level. 'Stay here, I'll send him over.' She winked at you.

'No, Phoenix. Nat-' it was no use. She was tiny and agile. She slipped away through the dense sweating bodies like it was nothing. Even though you were also best friends with Rooster, it was dangerous speaking to him at parties. Different people had different truth serums. For you, it was alcohol. One shot and you would tell people your life story, two and you'd cry about how much you loved a specific person, but he didn't love you back. 

You stared, unblinking, at the ground. You never wished you could sink into the wall as much as you did now. 

'I swear you're a chameleon.' Rooster's loud, cheerful voice said over the techno music. You looked up to see him standing over you, clad in a red flannel buttoned up and black jeans. 'Come on, Y/c/s, we're graduating in a few weeks, this could be our last party!' He handed you a shot.

'I'm only here because I promised Phoenix if she watched Scream with me, I'd go with her to something.' You shouted back. You took the shot but didn't drink it.

'Come on, dance.' Rooster opened up his hand. 'Please?'

'Not to this music.' You knew a way to get Rooster to leave and make a deal that he couldn't complete. 

'Fine, if I change it to something you'd dance to, will you dance with me?'

You rolled your eyes before nodding. 'Sure, I'll dance with you if you play a song I like.' 

'Take the shot.' Bradley winked at you before dashing off.  'Don't move!' He shouted over his shoulder.

You took the shot for shits and gigs. You knew the chances of him being able to change the song was slim, the DJ here was a WSO with the callsign DJ for a reason. He refused to give up his music privileges for ANYBODY. He was practically notorious for it. You tried not to smirk at the thought of Rooster begging for a song change, and then a denial.