Chapter Text
The ticking of the clock. The cars passing along the road. The joyous, muffled laughing of his other bandmates behind the thin walls. It was calming, really, and it was easy to lose yourself in your head when you couldn’t focus on anything else. To float mindlessly in a void or another world that only you can perceive was an irreplaceable experience— a euphoric one, even. Spend too long in it though, that’s when the other side of the blade comes, cutting your serotonin chains to let you venture into the darkest depths of your thoughts. That’s where it lay, your most depressing thoughts, in those wallless prisons, and it could consume you faster than any drug, memory, or emotion. It could trap you in a stream of constant, repeating fear and guilt while leaving you to live in a somber haze like a zombie so far gone from reality. So while the natural white noise of the world around you was therapeutic—just like everything in overdose—it could hurt you as much as it helped.
How much blood does one need to bleed to fill another’s broken heart? How many vocal cords do you need to snap to sow a timeless wound? Did it matter in the grand scheme of things? Would anyone else repay you with the same effort to keep you by their side as much as you’ve given to be by theirs?
A rhythmic knock at his door grabbed his divided attention and pulled him out of the sorrow-filled world he’d built for himself. That’s when he was able to notice his frantic state. His tears burned like molten lava spreading across flourish lands as they rolled down his face and onto his shaking hands. He was far from silent, choking out rushed breaths between broken sobs. The laughing didn’t stop from the others, maybe they hadn’t noticed yet, but then who knocked and why?
“Dustin?” It was Ron, and he was far from calm or happy like Brock who was giggling to Siobhan or Adam about some old, drunken tale he experienced in high school. He couldn’t see his face through the door, but he could picture him perfectly, standing there terrified of why he heard crying, the usual glow in his eyes masked with concern. “Dustin,” He repeated. It was more of a statement rather than a question now.
The door was unlocked, so if he was truly as worried as he sounded, he’d enter the room with or without Dustin’s permission, and that he did. Before he could string together a coherent lie saying he was fine, Ron opened the door quietly and closed it behind him. It had to have been a pitiful sight, staring down at Dustin while he was sitting on the floor and sobbing. All Ron did—all he could do—was sigh which set him off to cry even more.
Dustin found himself illogically muttering apologies, one after another while Ron walked over and sat down in front of him with a gentle, warm smile. He didn’t stop him or try to shut him up. He merely waited until he stopped repeating “sorry” before clearing his throat to talk.
“What happened?”
Dustin looked up at him. His tears continued to flow, but he didn’t utter a sound until— “What?” His voice was torn and frail, disheartened yet present.
Ron giggled to himself, feeling accomplished he got him to say something that was semi-understandable. “I asked what happened?” His eyes darted across the room for anything that stood out like possible weapons, some old photo that may have triggered something, or anything with significance.
He didn’t know how to respond—hell, how could he respond when he didn’t even know why he was upset? He stared at Ron, wide-eyed and confused. “I—“ He choked on a suppressed cry, snapping back into his wailing state before he could fully reply.
Ron didn’t say anything. He slowly and gently—as if holding a sheet of glass thinner than paper—pulled Dustin into a tight hug. Without hesitation, Dustin wrapped his arms around him and muffled his cries into his hoodie.
After sitting in silence while he cried, Ron had an idea—a shitty one, but it was worth a shot, “Brock is in the living room, challenging Adam to snort salt for some reason.” Ron shrugged and laughed. He was trying to distract Dustin from whatever had gotten so upset, “I don’t actually know why. I don’t see the joy of inhaling powder into my lungs, ya know, most people avoid having any powders or any solids go into their lungs.” He kept his voice low and deep to try and calm him, and it was working, His sobs were quieting, and he could have sworn to hearing a tired chuckle. “Last time I checked, the only safe thing that was meant to go into your lungs was carbon dioxide and oxygen, not fucking salt of all things.”
Ron continued to joke around and make sarcastic comments until Dustin wasn’t crying but instead giggling or even laughing. As time went on, Dustin detached himself from him and was now sitting against the edge of his bed as he listened to him explain what the others had been doing for the past hour, but it didn’t take long for him to revert to being quiet and hurt.
“So,” Ron muttered, “Are you willing to tell me what happened now, or are you still upset?”
“I’m not for sure.” His laughing ceased, and a blank, void stare washed over him in an instant.
He nodded like he understood what that meant. “Depending on the time,” The digital clocking self-illuminating the far right corner of the room read that it was nine-thirty at night, “What if we both go to sleep a little earlier, wake up, and try to start the day off as great as we can. I know after I’ve been upset for a while, a good night's rest always helps me.” He gave Dustin a sincere smile. The kind that, despite the situation, was infectious and warm.
Dustin smiled back and yawned, realizing how tired he actually was. Maybe that’s what set him off, his sleep deprivation, or something deeper. Something he had been neglecting or—it didn’t matter—he was fine now, and the only thing he cared about was Ron and sleep. “That’s probably for the best.”
“Good!” Ron happily stood to his feet and held his hand out for Dustin to take, so he could easily get up. “I’ll go tell the others that were in here chillin’, so they don’t suspect anything, and I’ll get you some water as well. There’s no way you’re not dehydrated after that.” Even though he’d finished talking, he still held his hand securely for seconds after he’d stopped. Eventually pulling away, he made his way to the door, gave Dustin a quick smile of affirmation, and shut the door behind himself.
The room was dim and cold. A small window behind him supplied a faint glow and some devices had tiny lights on them, but other than that, he was standing in pure darkness. He could hear Ron talking to the others, the air conditioner buzzing throughout the room, and his fragile, slow breaths that were broken with phlegm.
“Is Dustin okay? He seemed upset this morning.” Someone—it sounded like Brock, maybe Adam— asked with genuine concern.
“I hope he’s okay. It’s not like him to run off like that.” Zuzana muttered with Siobhan agreeing right after her.
Ron continued to reassure them repeatedly until he was free enough to go back into the room. He was holding two water bottles, his phone, and a beer he managed to snatch from Brock while he wasn’t paying attention.
Dustin let out a long sigh, “If you don’t want to go to sleep, you don’t have to. It’s a bit early as well.”
he rolled his eyes and set his miscellaneous items on the prop-up table next to the bed. “If I didn’t want to go to sleep,” He patted Dustin on the head, “Then why would I have suggested the idea?”
“Don’t pet me like I’m a kid or something,” He swatted his hand away and chuckled under his breath as he sat down on the edge of the mattress.
Ron took his hoodie off, and playfully threw it at Dustin who caught it before it could hit him. He stared at it for a minute before slipping his arms through the slightly larger sleeves and zipping it up. It felt like every ounce of blood rushed into Ron’s face in an instant, “I’m assuming I’m not getting that jacket back.” God, was he thankful it was dark enough in the room that he couldn’t see him turning redder than a tomato.
“Absolutely not,” Dustin grabbed the covers and pulled them down, crawling into the bed and yawning again.
Ron giggled to himself as he laid down beside him after drinking half of the stolen beer. He and Dustin were facing each other, and even though it was pitch, they knew the other was smiling and staring.
And damn, was he tired. While Ron would have liked to stay up longer and talk, joke around some more, and maybe make out for a second, Dustin had fallen asleep faster than he anticipated. They weren’t even lying there for longer than a few minutes, and he could hear his muffled snores through his hoodie. He wrapped his arm around Dustin’s waist and pulled him in as close as he could, resting his forehead on top of his head, and of course, he snuck a kiss or two beforehand. Subconsciously—unless he was still half-awake—Dustin wrapped his leg around Ron’s and nuzzled closer into his chest.
He wanted to lay there awake for as long as he could to take in the wholesome, warming moment and listen to his partner both in music and love sleep peacefully, but he soon felt his mind slipping into sleep. The ticking of the clock. The cars passing along the road. The joyous, muffled laughing of his other bandmates behind the thin walls. Well shit, it was calming, very easy to lose yourself and fall asleep, huh?