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“I cannot fuckings believes that Pickle has not showns up to practice this week. Whats the fucks is wrong with hims?”
For the first time since “practice” had started, Nathan looked up from the book he was reading. Skwisgaar was pacing around the room and strumming his guitar with practiced intensity, and while he was being a dick, he had a point. Pickles had disappeared after a family dinner that Nathan could only presume went terribly wrong. Their last conversation was over text, and ended with a 3 AM message from Pickles. i fuking hate my family.
They had tried not to bother him. Besides, what could any of them do about it? Nathan couldn’t force the man to stop going out with his family, as much as he wanted to sit Pickles down and tell him that attempting to win over their affections was pointless.
Nathan stood, dog-earring the page in his book. “I’m going to go call my dad,” he said, ignoring the stares from his bandmates as he walked out of the room. He held down the 1 on his Dethphone as he walked towards Pickles’ room.
As soon as Oscar picked up, Nathan started speaking. “Dad. I need help with something. My bandmate - well, friend- his parents suck dick. How do I… uh, help with that.”
Oscar made a contemplative hum. “Well, hello to you too. I’m not sure, to be honest. Depends on the situation. What are they like?”
“They’re just terrible. Like, I dunno, just say shitty stuff to him all the time and like, prefer his brother more or something. I try not to talk to them, they’re douchebags.”
“Well, you can’t fix his family, but you can help him. Maybe just talk to him. Give him some moral support, you know?”
The thought terrified Nathan. He wasn’t much of an emotional talk guy, or a talk guy in general, so his ideas on what to talk about weren’t helpful in the least. Distractions wouldn’t do much good besides push the problem off, and Nathan didn’t want to start getting drunk at 10 AM even if it would loosen his tongue. He pressed his head against the cold walls of Mordhaus, deciding to ignore the Klokateers attempting to ask him if he needed anything.
“I don’t know how to do that,” Nathan said, voice quiet as to not let anyone hear him admitting defeat.
“Just try, Nate,” Oscar said, “I’m sure you’re better at this than you think you are. I have to go now but good luck, okay? I believe in you.”
Nathan attempted to protest but the call was over. He slipped the phone back into his pocket and pressed himself more into the wall, as if he might meld through and not have to deal with this.
“Come on, Nathan,” he muttered. “Just talk to him. Just talk to him! All you have to do is say something and like, listen to his feelings and stuff. It’s not that fucking hard! God, why am I so useless at this shit?”
“Are you gonna keep talkin’ to my fuckin’ wall or do you wanna come inside?”
Nathan turned his head to see Pickles standing there with a half empty bottle of scotch in his hand. His eyes were red-rimmed and swollen. He clearly hadn’t had a good night.
“Pickles,” Nathan said. “I wanted to uh. Check in on you. You look like shit.”
“Noted. Took you long enough.”
“Sorry. I thought you’d want to be alone. Since you weren’t reaching out.”
Pickles shrugged. “It’s whatever. I needed some time to process. Come inside. I don’t want the Klokateers hearin’ us talkin’ about this gay shit.”
Nathan wasn’t going to argue against that. He stepped into the room with care to not crush any bottles under his foot, and sat down on the bed. Pickles sat besides him, taking another swig before tossing the bottle behind him without looking. There was the sound of glass shattering and liquid hitting the floor. Neither of them turned back.
“So uh. What… what happened.”
Pickles drummed on his leg with his hands, letting out a heaving sigh. “The usual bullshit. ‘Oh, Pickles, we know you’re in the most famous band in the world ever, but we still like that dickhead brothers of yours more. Pickles, why do you play such awful music, it's so violent. Why not go back to being the lead singer instead of just the drummer.’ Like, fuckin’ seriously? JUST the drummer? I’m the fuckin’ heartbeat of the band! But nooooo, my fuckin’ dad is still convinced I’m doin’ nothin’ with my life. He started talkin’ about how I need to get a real job and shit, and I ended up throwin’ a fuckin glass at him and walkin’ out.”
“Wow that’s….” Words escaped Nathan. Anger was building inside of his chest as he listened to every word, letting it sink in. How could those useless fucks say that? Pickles was right, he was the heartbeat of the band. What a shitty band they would be without a drummer of Pickles’ talent.
“Shitty? Yeh, tell me about it. Whatever. They can go back to worshippin’ the ground Seth fuckin’ walks on for all I care. I’m used to bein’ the family failure.”
Nathan looked over as Pickles’ voice hitched and noticed a few tears slipping down the drummer’s face. Anger made way to panic, and in an instinctual motion, he wrapped his arms around Pickles and drew him in for a hug.
“Don’t listen to them,” Nathan said, “You’re like, so fuckin’ talented and cool and shit, and what they think doesn’t fucking matter. They’re a bunch of dicks anyways.”
Not poetic by any means, but Nathan felt Pickles’ shoulders start heaving as sobs overtook him.
“I don’t deserve you guys,” Pickles groaned.
Nathan just tightened his grip. “Don’t say shit like that. You’re with us for a reason. Fuck, without you, we’d probably still be stuck in that shitty fuckin’ apartment. Do you, uh, do you want me to-”
“Nate’n, I swear to fuckin’ God if you let go, I’m going to lose my fuckin’ mind. Just hold me for a lil’ bit.”
Nathan got the hint. He would hold Pickles for as long as the two of them were comfortable with it.
Maybe he was better at this comforting thing than he thought.