Work Text:
Take Care
It’s a phrase Ethan has heard time and time again. It’s always used with such sentiment as well. The first time he truly took the words to heart were his phone calls to home during X-factor, the words a calming remedy for his homesickness.
From then on the words only became more common, and with each usage their sentiments seem to reach him less and less. It pops up every time he’d go off on their newest adventure. It appears whenever they leave an extravagant party, the words usually dripping from intoxicated lips onto unhearing drunken ears. It appears whenever someone gets to use them all as some eye candy for whatever publicity needs to be done, as if it makes up for them being passed around like a hot potato.
Now, as they leave yet another interview, the sentiment is being exchanged again and Ethan can barely interpret it anymore, almost akin to white noise.
Ethan knew this week was going to be a lot. From the never ending stream of press combined with the overwhelming experience of the crowds and the group’s constant excitement to go out partying afterwards in every new destination, he began to feel his brain grow heavier and heavier every time he woke up. He knows he needs a rest but they’re planning on taking a break in two weeks anyways and he didn’t want to be the one needing to change the plan.
But of course, like literally every other day of his life, plans change without any control and the sudden announcement from Fabrizio is almost enough to make Ethan want to puke.
“So you guys have been invited last minute to perform in New York.”
“Again already! When?” Thomas asks with a yawn as they all still are waking up.
“Four days, they’ve organized flights for us if you guys accept. It’s an award show.” Their manager answers promptly and Ethan's skin is already starting to buzz, the hair on his arms on high alert with the shocking news much too early for his brain to properly assess.
Vic lets out a squeal of excitement that feels like a cheese grater rubbing on his ear drums, he clenches his jaw so tight he’s afraid it’ll snap. “And now Thomas can finally join us afterwards without using a fake ID.” She jokes as she nudges the guitarist in the arm and he laughs back at her.
“Okay so that’s a yes from Vic, how about you boys.” Ethan can’t begin to wrap his head around it. How can everyone be okay with this when the plan was to have the rest of this week off before our last set of interviews and then we go home. Does this mean we can’t go home? And where are we going to stay? Are we wearing another new set of outfits? And-
“Ethan?” He looks up, focusing his eyes to focus on the space between his eyebrows as he tries to listen once more. “Are you okay with this? We don’t need to.” Ethan nods as the knots in his stomach only get worse and tries to force the alarm bells in his mind to quiet themselves. He can’t bring himself to admit how much he’d rather curl up into a ball than go to New York at the moment, especially after seeing how excited Victoria and Thomas look at the proposal. He’ll keep pushing himself like he has so far and pray like hell that they’re still going home afterwards.
Before he can truly register the new plan he’s already being dragged through the airport with Vic having far too much energy for him to take in. He keeps a strong beat tapping on his side as they move through the day, nodding along and forcing himself to look up just enough to try and keep the others from fussing over him.
Clearly, he’s failing because Vic nudges him hard enough to send a lightning strike through his arm and he clenches his jaw shut. “You need to drink otherwise you’ll give yourself a headache.” Vic. I could drink a fucking waterfall and still have a headache. Ever since they started packing for new york his brain has felt like it's being squashed by an anvil and if it weren’t for his stupid brain not connecting to his stupid mouth, he would probably snap back at her. “Per favore. Take three sips, then go to the toilet and then you can try to take a nap.” The softness in her voice makes his throat tighten with a feeling of guilt and he forces his hands to steady just enough so that he can satisfy her with a gulp of water. The hit of freshness washing down his throat feels like splashing water right onto his face and he notes just how thirsty he actually feels. How do I keep forgetting water?
“Now go to the bathroom.” He can register the slight pressure on his bladder but he can’t will himself to go up the aisle, much less try to compute all the noise that comes from airplane restroom stalls. “Bro, do you want to piss yourself?” He shakes his head in defeat and she responds calmly. “Then go, it’ll be easier to get some rest afterwards.”
Thankfully there’s no line so he shuts himself in the stall swiftly and takes a moment to briefly flap his hands by his shoulders as he tries to rapidly get all the urge to scream out of him before returning to his seat. He waits until the last possible moment to flush the toilet, already washing his hands so he can clasp his ears. Of course it really doesn’t do much to help when the toilet lets out a demonic roar that makes his eardrums feel like they’re on fire, he can’t help but wince in pain before opening the door with shaky hands and stumbling back to his seat. Like an idiot, he only remembers that he has a very simple way to help his ears feel like they aren’t drowning and pulls out his bag, sorting past his notebook, sunglasses, jumper, spare socks. Where the fuck are my headphones? I can’t not have headphones. I can’t have left them in LA. I Need my headphones.
“They aren’t perfect but they’ll block out most of the noise.” Victoria’s voice cuts through his panic like a warm knife in butter. “Ethan you need the rest, just take them.” His guilt is digging deeper into his chest as he nervously takes her earbuds, his hand still shaking. Once both are placed in his ears, he takes in a relieved breath as the noise quickly begins to soften, his body flushing red with embarrassment at how childish he feels after needing a reminder to go to the bathroom. God why can’t I just get through these two weeks like everyone else? He feels a familiar circling pattern on his hand and his fist melts at the calming pressure. Soon enough, Vic’s soothing action calms him into a sleep and his eyes become perfectly heavy enough to make his brain feel quiet for the first time in a concerning amount of time.
For the next few days, he feels like he’s just stuck in honey. Every step he takes feels like some ridiculous task that everyone is secretly judging him for. His sunglasses stay glued on his face at all times, often falling asleep with them on out of pure exhaustion as his brain continuously feels like it has the worst sunburn of all time. In the car ride to the awards show,he numbs his senses by biting his fingernails, honing his brain to focus on the pain rippling through his fingertips.
“Ethan, are you okay?” Damiano sighs and Ethan just shakes his head. Victoria instantly follows behind.
“Are you sure you don’t need anything?” Her patronizing tone feels like they're all circling him like sharks, like they’re all strangers and he’s back in middle school.
“I’m fine. You can all still get wasted.” He hisses as he returns to biting the inside of his lip.
“What?” “Bro.” “Ethan.” Their voices all sort of mesh into one but Vic’s voice can still stand out, laced with pity that packs an extra sting.
“Fuck off! Don’t baby me!” He’s here, he’s here just like the rest of them so there’s no reason to treat him like he’s going to explode. I’m not some fucking child!
They pull up to the roar of photographers and he can feel himself drifting in between feeling everything and nothing at all. His brain feels like it’s cut off all connection to the body, as if he’s floating just outside of his own skin where the buzzing and shouting can’t reach him. If it weren’t so terrifying, he’d call it beautiful but the sensation of being trapped within himself is far much worse.
If Ethan hadn’t just told them all to fuck off, he’d probably do what he normally did and make sure he’s squeezed in the middle of the group, allowing their squeezing sensation to soften the blow of flashing lights engulfing them from every angle. Without any of his usual coping mechanisms, he just lets his mind shrink as small as possibly, not caring to try and mask. Apparently Americans go mad for that stoic, cold look he usually adorns when he’s not masking, so long as it’s only on a red carpet otherwise he looks like an asshole.
Right now he truly couldn’t care less about anything as dumb as what the press thinks. If just once he could figure out a way to fucking breath just like everyone else. If he could know just for a minute how to be himself in a way that people wouldn’t comment ‘spaz’ or ‘weirdo’ on his post so often that he’d stop logging onto the app without a friend, maybe he'd be able to handle everything like his friends so easily do.
But instead, the fluorescent lighting in the green room along with the roar of voices rushing in every direction makes him feel like someone scooped out his brain and is running it through a blender.He clenches his eyes and tries to convince his mind to take a nap, anything to stop the sensory overload from making him look like an idiot before they go on stage.
“Ethan.” Ethan’s heart almost leaps out of his chest and he barks back on autopilot.
“What?”
“We’ve gotta get ready” Oh… right.. He brushes away the doubt tempting to weave its way further in his mind. No no no. I’m fine. This. Is. Fine. The drumsticks almost fumble from his spinning fingers but he quickly clutches them in his hands. They move through the mundane motions as they prepare to go on stage. The earpiece slides into his ear but only provides a momentary relief until the stage directions and metronome starts to flood in. The excess energy flooding his skin feels intoxicating, like radioactive waste making him feel worse and worse with every moment they are all on the stage.
The performance is a complete blur. He’s always loved how the camera never pans to him for too long during concerts, much more interested in their eccentric frontman, but today it’s an indescribable blessing as the pure anguish and fear begins to blur his mind into one big puddle. But no matter how much he tries to keep pushing himself to believe he can make it, he can feel his muscles getting sticker, as if they’re stuck in mud. His panic begins to rise as he attempts to focus on the beat. It’s not working, he can tell he’s messing it up. Come on, WORK!
His lifelines slip from his hands as a sudden cluster of strobe lighting hits him like a truck, knocking the wind out from him. It feels as if someone is sticking a thousand glass shards in him but he’s trapped inside a box where no one can hear his pain. He wants to move, pick up the sticks, or maybe just run so fast off the stage no one would notice but his brain can’t do anything right now. Like an over-exhausted computer freezing when you need to upload the most important assignment of your life.
Every second makes him feel more and more like his spinning on a collision course out of control. He doesn’t feel the stage beneath his feet, he doesn’t catch the air that’s trying to weasel its way into his panicking lungs, he doesn’t see anything except for the darkness of his shut eyes. It feels as if there is only himself in an empty arena, with fear and rage as his deathly opponents.
People are whirling around him, taking away his drum kit, pushing him off the stage. He bumps into someone and feels as if he’s pushed a cigarette bud out on his shoulder.
Something absolutely vile grabs hold of his shoulder and his whole body freezes in an instant. There’s a high pitch noise that almost sounds like a wounded cat somewhere near him.
Someone is standing in front of him, he can feel them almost towering over him. He squints to try and figure out who it is. Thomas? Yes, Thomas. Thomas is in front of him holding a notepad with some writing.
‘You’ve got to move your hands for me to put these on.’
He frowns and covers his ears tighter. I don't want anything - oh. Ear muffs. He exhales and forces himself to release one ear at a time, relishing in the adjustment of noise to a dull roar.
‘You and I are going back to the hotel. Do you want to squeeze my hand? Yes or No?’.
Ethan tremulously clutches onto the fabric sleeve in front of him, grateful that he can avoid any more skin to skin contact. Usually holding onto someone else is enough to help his heart slow down just enough to figure out his surroundings. But no matter how hard he tries to keep himself tethered to the real world, he’s out of orbit in his own panic.
He can’t figure out what the sounds are but they’re constantly changing. He tries to pull at the roots of his hair but the single ping of pain only douses the burning sensation all over him for a moment before it returns in full force. It feels like there’s fire ants all over him and smoke in his lungs.
I need out. He can’t deal with the looks and whispers from everyone around him. What they’ll say or how they’d probably be so angry at him for ruining the performance they were all excited for. I can't, no no. I won’t do this in front of my friends. They’ll think I'm an idiot. No. No. No. I need to go out. Now.
It’s not working! No! Someone is pushing against him and he immediately starts trying to shake the feeling off his skin.
There’s a stinging cold blast and at that point it’s like his whole body has been trapped under the surface of a frozen river. There’s a high pitched noise in the car like the one before and he can’t stop his face from feeling hot and sticky.
They stop driving and eventually they walk back to his room. It’s quieter than everything else, thank god, but it’s still not great. There’s the buzzing of the hallway lights and Thomas always keeping his air conditioning on next door lets a constant buzz echo in the back of his skull. Usually once he’s in a dark room it would get better but it isn’t feeling better. It feels worse, a lot worse.
A sour taste burns the inside of his body until a gagging sensation forces him to bend over. Now there’s wet patches on his pants practically clawing themselves onto Ethan’s skin. He can feel his mind shrink in on itself, everything else becoming muted, yet it's still clearly there and unstoppable.
The sensation is absolutely petrifying, as if he’s floating outside his own body. There’s no ability to think or process, there is only room to feel. To feel everything. To feel the pain of city lights and roaring traffic attacking his senses, to feel the utter shame flooding his body, to feel the overwhelming disgust at himself. Almost mechanically, he begins to therapeutically sink his teeth into as much of his hand as he could. The relief on his constantly grinding jaw along with the singular point of pain is enough to soften the multitudes of howls within the back of his brain, even just for a moment. It allows his skin to focus on the slightly less painful area.
“Ethan? Breathe with me. In, due, tre, quattro. Out, due tre quattro.” The words keep repeating and Ethan finally registers Thomas in front of him, guiding him to get his breath back. He hadn’t even noticed his breathing got so out of control. Slowly he starts to feel his brain turn on the connection to the rest of his body and he returns to grinding his teeth instead of sinking them into his hand. He yawns as Thomas graciously offers him a set of new clothes, relieving him from the slimy texture of contaminated velvet pants. He collapses onto his bed, letting the weight of his blanket crush himself back into his body as his eyes close.
When he peels his eyes open again, his brain feels like it’s been through a blender whilst his body feels like a fly that’s just been squashed by a shoe. “Ciao, bello.” The croaky whisper sounds like nails on a chalkboard and he brings a hand up to cup his exposed ear. Thomas softly waves, sitting in the chair beside his bed and types into his phone before showing Ethan the message.
Is your hand okay?
For a moment his brain is still trying to connect the events of last night together until he finally registers the tenderness in his hand, sucking in a breath as he moves it from under the covers. His chest tightens at the dotted curve of a bite mark and arising bruising that gives his hand an unfortunate color.
The realization of how bad he let everything get hits him hard, the last time he had bit himself was at the start of X factor when they got their first influx of attention, and never in front of his friends.
Vic left a note by your bed of things you should do once you’ve got more energy. And I found some other fresh clothes so those are at the end of your bed.
His eyes lock onto the bruise now adorning Thomas’ wrist and he chews on his gums. Did I do that? No god, I did that. He rolls over to pick up his phone, momentarily wincing when the brightness is more than he can take in but turns it down and hastily types.
Need Alone please
Sorry
Thomas nods and writes one more thing before leaving.
It’s okay. Take care of yourself
Etan Etan.
Once Thomas leaves, he rolls over to look at the note stuck onto his lamp shade with Victoria’s typical neat writing and minuscule doodles he assumes Thomas must have added.
Go to the toilet 🚽
Wash your hands 🧼
Drink some water 🚰
Have a shower 🚿
Get changed into comfy clothes (by your bed) 🩳
Have a snack (there is some bread on the table) 🍞
Rest as much as you need 😴
Text us if you need anything. 🤳🏼
Love, Victoria
Of course Vic could still be kind to him after the way he’s treated them all.
Of course they’d all be there to help him instead of finally cutting him off once and for all.
Once again, Ethan’s fucked himself over and now everyone else has to deal with his consequences. Fans are let down by his shitty performance, his shitty interview, shitty social media. If this bruise doesn’t clear up before Rome, he’ll disappoint his mum who’s been so proud of how he’s ‘handling everything’.
He feels like a fraud.
God, I feel like such a complete fraud.
Sometimes it feels like him being a part of a group as good as his friends has to be some sort of sick practical joke from the universe. Those moments where he’d scroll past hate comments are actually small glimpses into reality, to remind him that he’d never actually be good enough.
It’s exhausting.
Why does everything need to be so exhausting?
Damiano is on the other side of the door a few moments later, or maybe it’s actually a few hours I haven't looked at the time. “Ethan? Open up, Etan Etan.” There’s a gentle knock on the door, which for Damiano is kind of concerning. The sound of knocking on wood is not nearly as annoying as it would have been yesterday. He rolls out of bed to open the door, Damiano does a comedic shimmy with a bowl of pasta and his stupid stupid ‘look at me’ grin. It disappears as he scans Ethan with his eyes like a barcode. “Jesus, you need food. Luckily they give you access to the kitchen when you’re VIP.” So that’s why I can tolerate the smell. He wonders as the waft of carbonara makes his stomach grumble. Ethan lets him in and puts the plate on his lap when he gets back under the weighted blanket, still not saying a word. “Okay so you’re still not up for talking?” He practically pipes and he wonders how he could be so fucking cheerful after such an exhausting performance. Damiano must notice because he dials it back as he begins to fling his hands around. “No worries.” Oh.. sign language?
“How?” Ethan briefly signs in between bites, not able to stop himself once he realized he hadn’t had anything for at least 24 hours, probably more. Damiano’s cheeks turn red and he giggles.
“Gio has a friend who is helping me with Italian sign language. Not to brag but I think I'm doing okay.” Of course. Your girlfriend turns you into such a nerd. He thinks to himself as Damiano clearly lets his mind wander to thinking about his girlfriend, the goofy smile returning once more.
“You need to eat, so I found pasta and I even found the same brand as back at home. I stole the rest of the ingredients from the kitchen and I made something I know you’ll never say no to.” Ethan can tell Damiano is trying to sign where he can but he still feels his face flush red. He’s very happy that Damiano made the food, but why couldn’t he just eat anything like Thomas? He’s basically a food vacuum . “Don’t be embarrassed, I wanted an excuse to cook anyways.” Okay great, so i’m an excuse. That’s great. Damiano hands him a fork and he finally forces himself to take another bite. Why does this taste so good but everything else tastes like wet sand? He grovels internally as he continues to eat when Damiano leans forward in his seat. “Hey, whatever you want to say, you can tell me. Just write it down if you can’t talk right now.” He hands Ethan the notepad with a pen and Ethan writes a short sentence before handing it sharply back to Damiano.
I’m sorry for yesterday.
“Ethan, you’re exhausted, we all understand. You don’t need to be sorry, you need to eat.” He shovels another bite to try and stop himself from biting his nails again.
“Look we can all talk once you feel up to it but it’s perfectly fine. You can just take time off and get your hand checked to make sure you didn’t bust it up too bad.” WHAT? Thomas, you snitch. Ethan instinctively starts to curl away from the singer next to him when he realises that, once again, the plans need to be changed because of little stupid Ethan. “Wait, are you embarrassed about the time off?” He snatches back the notepad, knowing Damiano wouldn’t leave him without an answer.
I’m sorry for messing up the plans again.
Damiano gives him a gentle nudge on the knee before speaking softly. “Hey. When Vic needed a break and we did the podcast on our own, did you judge her for taking that day off?” Ethan shakes his head, but that didn’t feel the same. Vic knew in advance that she wouldn’t be able to do an interview on that day, so she didn’t ruin any plans. Still, Damiano continues to lecture. “When I needed us to cancel the concert because I was struggling, wasn’t it you who brought me tea and made sure I was getting some rest?” He nods as he remembers how exhausted Damiano was that day, he had broken down the night before and lost his voice. There was no other option, that’s also not the same. Ethan should be able to still play, it’s not like a sore throat. “And when Thomas was panicking about the stress of school and music, did you judge him when he needed to take a week back home to clear his mind?” Ethan shakes his head again but he still can’t understand why Damiano feels like he needs to bring this up. They all had reasons, real reasons. Not stupid excuses like the lights are too loud that no one else seems to understand.
“Ethan, you need a serious break. You’ve been burning yourself out trying to ignore what your body needs and that’s not healthy. So what you’re going to do is take the rest of this trip off, we only had another week anyways. And then we’re going home as planned for a good two weeks. And we’ll work it out from there. If you need more time or support, we’ll work it out.” He repeats the message again and again. It’s nice, Ethan supposes but it still feels so empty. Damiano squeezes Ethan's hand as he lets out a small sigh.
“This is going to sound cringe, and it kind of is but it’s true, so listen carefully. Taking care of yourself will never be a burden to us.”
It’s such a corny statement. It’s not like he hasn’t heard it before. They’ve all drilled it into his skull time and time again. But for some reason, hearing his friend say that after everything they’ve been through this year is exactly what he needs. He can feel his eyes begin to get watery and he tries to sniffle them back. “Do you need a hug?” Ethan nods and Damiano makes him move slightly over before he hops onto the bed with him, giving him a tight bear hug. This is nice.
Damiano and Ethan end up watching a new show on Netflix and he can feel his brain starting to connect back to everything else when he can make little one worded comments when there's a cool trick or nice music. About three episodes in, t here’s a sudden voice from the doorway. “Am I allowed in?” They both look up from the TV to see Victoria in her pajamas, standing in the dividing doorway. Damiano waits until Ethan gives a shy nod to leave them be, giving the pair some privacy. He seems to whisper something to Victoria but he doesn’t even try to hear exactly what he says. When Damiano’s gone, Victoria lets out a sigh.
“I babied you.” She admits with teary eyes and Ethan can’t help but roll over and try to ignore it.
“Vic, don’t” He muffles under a pillow as he tries to focus on anything else. I can’t make another person upset right now, please. Vic completely ignores him and keeps going.
“No. I did baby you with the obsessive checking in when you had clearly asked for space and you deserve an apology. You were right to tell me to fuck off.”
Oh.
It isn’t what he had expected her to say.. But he’s okay with it. In fact, it feels like the right thing to hear. He appreciates Victoria always caring but sometimes she could just ignore his personal space, on accident of course , but it would still annoy him. “Okay.” He can hear her footsteps freeze and he assumes she’s stopped pacing. He peeks out from the darkness of his pillow to see her sitting on the chair beside his bed and she continues to speak, but much calmer.
“If it makes it any better, you’re not the only one i baby.” Ethan tries to figure out what she’s talking about. “It’s a ‘coping strategy’ apparently. Whoopie” Wait what? “Whenever I start feeling overwhelmed, I usually find something to focus on that everything else gets locked out. Normally it’s something about myself, like my body, which makes it easy to notice that I'm not okay because I'll realize I've lost my appetite or I'm looking in the mirror a lot.” Ethan is still waiting for a way to connect Vic treating him like a toddler to whatever’s been going on with herself. “I think I just got hit with some extra strong homesickness this trip and instead of my usual habits like constantly second guessing myself, I ended up trying to constantly check on everyone else, a distraction I guess. I didn't realize that until I recognized how much I violated personal space. I’m really sorry.” He sits up as he takes in all the information. He can’t bring himself to try eye contact but he looks at the floor where her foot is anxiously tapping the carpet.
“Are you okay now?” She takes a small pause before responding, stilling her anxious habit.
“I’m going to talk it out with my therapist and I've got better ways of coping with stress. Oh, which reminds me.” She starts pulling stuff out of her pockets and dumping it nonchalantly onto the end of the bed. “I hadn’t realized that my coping mechanisms would also work for you until I heard your jaw grinding in the car like it was a pesto making factory.” Those are toys. How can you say sorry for treating me like a baby and then give me toys?!?
“Toys? You said no more babying.”
“This isn’t babying, this is making sure you don’t pop your jaw. Which would make you end up in the hospital where I would scream at you until the end of time and then social media would run viral with ‘Italian rock star goes mental in emergency room’. Really I'm just doing Leo a favor because he’d lose his mind at all the social media posts, can you imagine him?” Vic mimics the usual look of mortification on Leo’s face, slapping her hand onto her cheeks as they drag, stretching out her face. He lets out a small laugh. “See, i knew you would understand.” She jokes and for a moment it feels like they’re joking for the first time when they met all those years ago.
“First one is a hand me down, weighted gloves. It helps me get the localized pressure that I'd normally get from finger biting.” He recognises them, she had worn them on a few car trips before, he assumed they were just an accessory. The texture is oddly soothing and the pressure gives a similar focusing effect like his drumsticks.
“And the next one is a chew thing so i brought you your own one because, gross.” What the hell? Victoria !
“I’m not a dog!”
“No shit Edgar!” The words come out oddly harsh and they both freeze still for a moment in equal levels of embarrassment. After a hefty amount of awkward silence, Victoria takes a black circle on her necklace and sticks it into her mouth before taking it out again. “It’s chewable jewelry.” Why the hell do you even know what that is? “I don't feel comfortable using it in front of people but when I feel really bad, like getting ready for a panic attack, I usually find a private spot like a bathroom and try to bite out all my worries onto this hunk of silicone.”
“I got one matching, except in brown because that matches more of your stuff and then I got another in blue” He lets his eyes scan the circle before cautiously biting down on it, letting a slither of the tension in his body out on the jewelry piece as Victoria moves to lie down next to him.
“You want to keep watching Cobra Kai?” She asks and Ethan grabs the remote to resume the show once more. “Can we invite the other two as well?” Ethan nods before he grabs his phone to send a message to the singer and the guitar player.
“Cobra Kai?” Thomas and Damiano both chime only a few moments later. Ethan smiles at the way they poke their heads through the doorway. They join them all on the bed, squished together and Thomas steals a pillow from Victoria which results in him getting a slightly over-dramatic kick in the back, making Damiano laugh. Ethan lets himself curl into his friends and engage with his new sensory tools whilst the episode continues. Slowly but surely, as the episodes go on and the night grows closer and closer, Ethan feels like he can finally get his head above water again. He takes his phone out to send them all a message.
Grazie
Vic smiles as she gives him a small nod and Damiano does the same. Ethan looks over to see if Thomas has any reaction and they all realize he’s dead asleep. They all struggle to not laugh as they try to focus back on the show.