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Daron lies on the bed, his stomach pressed against the layers of sheets and his arms folded in front of him. His eyes are half-closed, peeking out to watch his friends who are sitting in some sort of circle on the floor, legs crossed and backs slouched. The sun is starting to set outside, and the window traces these soft yellow-y patches on the walls, shaping and painting everything they touch.
“Hey, man,” Shavo had told him earlier that day, shoving his shoulder. “We should go to Brian’s after this. It’ll be awesome.”
Daron had shrugged and said okay, because he needed something to get his mind off…well, everything, he guesses. Because everything fucking sucked right now. He’d gotten a job to get his mom off his back, but now he was just exhausted constantly. And he was pretty sure he was kind of in love with Serj right now, or something, which he didn’t even want to process because he knew it would end with him puking his guts up in the bathroom, or something.
Daron doesn’t even know where Serj is right now. He comes and goes, it seems. Always shows up when Daron never expects it, but Daron never expects anything from Serj anymore, except his quiet voice, because at least that’s consistent.
“Fieldy plays it like this, y’know,” Daron watches Head say, frowning and reaching forward to poke at Shavo’s quick fingers that are sliding up and down his bass at the moment. Shavo swats his hand away, frowning, but with a small smile. “Shut up, man. Fieldy’s a fuckin’ prick. I don’t care what he does.” Daron sighs in agreement, but he doesn’t think anyone hears him.
Head frowns and leans back, his eyes rolling. He has a bottle of Jack Daniels they’ve all been passing around gripped in between his lap and hand right now, his other hand trailing behind Munky’s back. Daron doesn’t really know what their deal is, and he’s sure not going to fucking ask. Head and Munky always stand too close. Munky always laugh like a fucking bitch at all of Head’s jokes, even the less funny ones. They’re too eager to grab each other too, hands fisting in each other’s clothing and sharing this weird glances and snickers, Head always basically mouthing onto the side of Munky’s fucking face with how he pulls at James’s collar, and whispering soft things into his ears. It’s weird, and right now Munky is all pressed up onto his side, his head nestled too perfectly into the crook of Head’s shoulder, and Daron’s almost hesitant to let them drink more, because he’s scared it’s going to lead to things him and Shavo don’t want to see. They’ve never said anything outright or, like, kissed in front of them, and Shavo and him are never going to ask, but still…
Head takes a swig as Daron thinks about this, winces slightly, and then his eyes shift to Daron’s, which catches him off guard.
“What’s up, Malakian?” He grins, his teeth jutting out of his face. “Need some?” He holds out the bottle. Munky giggles at his side, and Daron holds in a groan. Shavo glances over his shoulder and meets Daron’s eyes, his eyebrows knitted together as he mouths, “You okay?”
Daron gives him a brief nod, before lifting himself up and reaching out to grab the Jack Daniels from Head, who smirks, and glances over at Munky, and they do another one of their secret wordless exchanges that just grates at Daron’s fucking nerves. He clenches his jaw for a moment, and grabs the half-flat Coke left on Brian’s nightstand, using it to quickly chase the Jack. He shudders slightly as he feels the warmth run down his throat and through his chest, settling nicely below his ribs. He goes to knock back another one when Brian speaks up again.
“Hey, where’s your guys’ one friend? With the hair?” He mimes Serj’s curly hair, and Daron chokes as the alcohol hits the roof of his mouth. He splutters, holding his arm over his lips and coughing. Head squints his eyes, slowly turning back to him.
“You good over there, Malakian? First time?” Another high-pitched laugh from Munky. This time Daron sends back a half-hearted glare, and Head holds up his hands in mock innocence, before he drops them, chuckling. His twisted hair swings as he does this.
“Dunno,” Shavo replies, thankfully pulling Head’s attention away from Daron, who gives one last short cough before he can try to take another one. “We asked him to come with us but he said he was busy. Something with his mom, y’know…” Shavo trails off, and Head nods, and it pisses the fuck out of Daron because he knows Brian doesn’t gives a fucking shit about Serj or his fucking mom. What does he fucking know? Serj has only been around Head and his jackass friends a couple times, because that group was really only friends with Shavo, who just dragged Daron and the others along sometimes, and each time Head had been obnoxious and too in Serj’s face, like he was with literally everyone else. Except Serj and Daron weren’t as into it, or at least Daron sure fucking wasn’t. Serj had been polite, but quick to excuse himself.
Daron doesn’t know why Shavo even likes hanging out with them so much. He thought at first it was just for the weed and alcohol, but he sees them too much for it to be that. Daron just doesn’t get it. Doesn’t get what he sees in them. But he’s here too, isn’t he?
“What about Jon? Is he coming over later?” Shavo asks, setting his bass aside. Head shrugs, glancing down at Munky, who raises his eyebrows in response. Shavo meant it about thinking Fieldy was a dick, he was the only one even Shavo seemed to struggle to get along with, but he was still on good terms with Jon and David.
“Dunno. You know how he is,” Head says, and Shavo nods. And Daron almost does too, because he knows as well just how goddamned fucking weird Jon is. But Daron can’t hate him, not really, because Jon is actually really nice once you get to know him - too dorky to be hanging around with the real assholes that Fieldy and Head were. Munky…same thing, honestly.
“We should ask him to come over,” James says, first thing he’s said out loud and directly the whole evening. And of course, since fucking Munky said it, Head grins down and says, “Hey, yeah man. We should. Since your guy can’t make it.” He turns his head to Shavo, and raises his eyebrows, as if asking. Shavo nods, and then reaches over to Daron for the Jack Daniels. As Daron passes it to him, and Munky leans backwards to grab the phone, Head glances over at him, leaning back on his hands.
“You cool with that, Malakian? You like Jon, right?”
Daron wants to tell him to shut the fuck up, or maybe ask if he forgot his first name.
“Yeah. ‘S funny.”
“Heh, yeah. Love that guy.” Brian glances back at Munky, and Daron swears he can see him eyeing the stretch of skin that pokes out from Munky’s lifted shirt, even from where he sits on the bed. “You’re so quiet tonight, man,” Head says after a moment, and it takes Daron a second to realize he’s still talking to him. “What’s up? You got something on your mind or what?”
“No,” Daron blinks, settling down low again. “I just don’t like you.”
He isn’t really joking, and he assumes Head knows, but it still cracks him up anyways.
*
“Man, what’s your deal with Shavo’s friend?” Munky pulls his knees up to his chest, leaning his elbow over the center console, his head tilted against his shoulder and the seat.
“Huh?”
“Oh, you know what I mean,” He scoffs. “Why do you antagonize him? Even when Jon came over, you still kept making jabs towards him. What’s that about, man?”
Head frowns, blowing his cigarette smoke out of the corner of his mouth. James frowns and flicks his forehead. “Roll down the window, asshole.”
They’re sitting in Head’s piece-of-shit car, small and green and rumbles if you touch anything for too long. The sky outside is overcast, with the sun trying to break through the wall of clouds. A chill in the air makes James shiver, and he messes with the dial for the heat at the front of the dash, trying to scoot closer to Head. Head mumbles something, slinging an arm over to rest on Munky’s shoulders, who reaches up and grabs his hand from where he hangs loosely over him. Birds fly overhead, and the distant sound of cars racing past on the highway nearby creates a softer atmosphere.
“Daron?”
“Yeah. The one with the big eyes who was with us last night.”
Head chuckles. “His fuckin’ eyes, man…I’d hate to get high with him. He’d make me paranoid.”
Munky laughs at that, because of course he does, and Head grins as he ashes his cigarette. “Man, I dunno. I don’t like…have a deal with him, I guess. He just pisses me off. So sensitive.”
“He wasn’t even talking to us,” Munky points out. “He was pretty quiet when it was just us. He talked to Jon and Shavo more than you.”
Brian scrunches his face, and rubs at his temple with the thumb of his hand that holds the cigarette, his other tapping his fingers along Munky’s shoulder in a similar rhythm to the song that emanates from his car stereo right now. Munky continues to just lay back and watch Head carefully, through soft eyes.
“I can just tell he’s thinkin’ shit, man. I can.” Head finally says, sounding like he’s struggling to find the words. “I don’t care when Shavo brings him over, but I don’t get why he just has t’ like…sit there in the fuckin’ corner and just act all weird. Like, he can at least try to join us,”
Munky rolls his eyes as he talks, but he sort of understands. Shavo is fun, and Munky likes when Brian brings him around, but he always wants to bring Daron too, who seems to mostly like to pick arguments, but he’s nice enough to Munky, so he never says anything.
“I think…” Munky says after a moment, his eyes fluttering closed as he pushes his head against Brian. “You guys are both assholes…and you hate each other because you’re the fuckin’ same.”
Head laughs, his smoke billowing out too close to Munky, who swats at it with his hand, but he smiles a bit at the sound of Head’s laughter.
“Sorry,” Head says, and gives a final giggle. “Damn, Munks. I think you’ve got it all figured out. I didn’t know you were, uh…fuck. What’s the word?”
“Huh?”
“Shavo’s fuckin’ friend says it all the time…clairvoyant! I didn’t know you were fuckin’ clairvoyant, dude.” He chuckles to himself after saying that, like he just outsmarted someone, and brings the cigarette back to his lips. Munky snorts as he watches him.
“Man, who cares? They’re all fuckin’ weirdos.” Head mumbles, mostly to himself. Munky shifts in the seat, sighing. “Dude, we’re no better.”
“Shit,” Head scoffs, half-laughing. “Yeah.”
*
Daron feels like shit. He doesn’t know what it is, but ever since that night at Head’s, he’s been feeling like a fucking exposed livewire. Maybe Head fucking hexed him or he got fucking radiation poisoning from the amount of fucking cum that’s probably embedded in those fucking bedsheets, but whatever it is, his heart is hammering in his goddamn chest, slapping against his ribs at all hours of the day.
The occasional shots of speed and coke most likely don’t help either.
He stands at the register, pushing his hair behind his ears and then shaking it out every couple of seconds. Repeat process. He chews on his lip, and can already taste faint metallic blood, because he’s been doing it all morning. People come in and ask for things, ask what they have available, if they can rent this, all sorts of questions that Daron usually answers within seconds but today he just stares at them, sweat pouring down the back of his neck and the sides of his arms until Shavo pushes him aside, asking the customer repeat their question.
“Daron, what the actual fuck?” Shavo finally hisses, the second Daron sits down on the stepladder in the break room. It creaks underneath his weight, and he digs his elbows into his knees, holding his head and hunching in on himself.
“Daron?” Shavo repeats, stepping closer. Daron stares at his shoes. “Daron. Hey. Are you okay?” Shavo’s voice softens. Daron exhales sharply, and rasps, “Yeah. ‘M fine.”
“You sound like shit.” Shavo says. “And you look like it, too.”
“Thanks,” Daron sighs.
“Like, I can see the sweat dripping off you, man.”
Daron drags his head up, glaring at Shavo, who smiles weakly when he makes eye contact. “Well, I know you are sort of okay, since you’re still well enough to remember to flip me off.” Daron rolls his eyes and sinks his shoulders back down, and Shavo crosses his arms.
“Why don’t you just go home? David’s off in a couple minutes. Have him take you.” He glances Daron up and down, before adding, “it’s not like you’re doing too much here.”
“Maybe,” Daron says, avoiding the eye contact Shavo is trying so desperately to make. He could definitely use the hours, but Daron feels like he’s about to collapse and smash his fucking skull on the floor if he stays here any longer. He just wants to be alone, and not have any more middle aged guys try to argue with him on storage locker prices. It’s seriously getting to him. He thinks about reaching over the counter and wrapping his hands around their throats every time one of them raises an eyebrow and starts to voice an opinion.
“What’s going on, man?” Shavo asks, kicking his foot at Daron’s. “Like, seriously. You seem…like…”
“Dude, why do you care?” Daron asks, and it comes out a lot worse than he meant it to. He hesitantly glances at Shavo’s face, and sighs when he sees the frown his friend has trained on him. “Sorry,” Daron exhales. “I don’t know, man. I’m just like…I don’t know. I don’t feel good. Haven’t at all these last few days.” It's a flimsy excuse, and even Daron can hear it, but he just doesn’t care right now. He just wants to be left the fuck alone. Why is that so hard for everyone to do?
Shavo is quiet for a moment, before he uncrosses his arms and drops them at his sides, letting them hang there nervously, and says, “Y’know, Daron, maybe you need to cut back on the speed” Daron groans but doesn’t reply, and Shavo narrows his eyes. “It’s still just speed, right?”
“Sure,” Daron murmurs, and Shavo sighs, closing his eyes momentarily.
“God fucking damnit, Daron.” He groans, and Daron almost feels kind of bad because Shavo is the one who never really gets angry with him. Even though Daron spends so much of their time together bitching and whining and making Shavo deal with so much of his shit, Shavo is always good to him. Daron wishes he wasn’t whatever the fuck he is, at least just for him.
“I can’t deal with this shit right now, man,” Shavo says, and Daron glares up at him. “Well, you fucking asked.”
“I’ll tell David to take you home. Call me when you get there, okay?” Shavo ignores him, and when Daron makes a grunt of agreement, Shavo turns and walks out, lingering slightly in the doorway with a frustrated expression. Daron keeps his head down to avoid it, focusing on his breathing so he doesn’t pass out before he can even get home.
David is nice. Well-meaning. He works with Shavo and Daron, which is how Shavo met Head and Munky and Jon and everyone. He made buddies with David before Daron started working here, and David would bring him around to all his friends. David is fairly quiet, but always has something nice or funny to say. Daron likes his voice, higher-pitched than you’d assume and oddly sweet. But in the car, it’s pissing him the fuck off. David asks too many questions, plays questionable music, and tries to be a good guy, which he is, it’s just that Daron is in the worst fucking mood right now, and he curls in on himself, pressed against the car door, just willing for David to shut up and leave him alone. David tells him something funny Jon did at his house the other day, and Daron squeezes his eyes shut, praying to a god who’s clearly stringing him along like this in some gross display of playing with its toys.
He can feel the sweat pooling in his pits and neck and all the other crevices of Daron’s body, and his head spins with each turn David makes. His heart is hammering against his ribs, and Daron stays fucking alive in that car because he knows he’ll get to go home and just take another line. He’s so close, his fingers tingle slightly as he imagines it, picturing it perfectly cut up on his desk, and the bliss he’ll feel once he can finally just sit down on his fucking bed and not be around anyone.
“Hey man, you take care, okay?” David says as he pulls into Daron’s driveway. Daron glances over at him, and bites his tongue to hold back what he wants to really say to David right now.
“Yeah,” Daron croaks, grabbing the door handle. “Thanks for the ride, man.”
“‘Course,” David grins, and Daron tries his best to send one back. As he starts to push the door open, David says, “Hey, I mean it, Daron. You haven’t been looking so well these past few days. I hope that whatever it is you’re, ah, dealing with…I hope you figure it out, okay?”
Daron squints at him, because what the hell? Did Shavo send him a script of what to say? Christ.
But David has this gentle look in his eyes, where they crease at the ends and his mouth forms a thin line. David doesn’t smile with his teeth.
“Thanks,” Daron mumbles, and exits the car. It’s a shitty exit, and he knows it even now, but he just doesn’t fucking care . He stumbles to the door, knowing that David is watching and waiting for him to get in his house, because of course that motherfucker is. He sighs in near orgasmic relief as he slams the door and hears the crunching of gravel as David pulls out. Daron draws the blinds, peeking out through to double check he’s gone. And once he’s sure, he sprints the best he can up the stairs. So Daron still lives with his parents. Sue him. Housing isn’t cheap, and so if he has to do hard drugs with his parents just a few feet below at the dinner table, he could give less of a shit. They’re not home now, and the thought of their existence doesn’t even cross his mind as he fumbles for the baggie he’s hidden near the window.
*
Daron wakes up, drenched in sweat and pressed between unwashed sheets, bleary-eyed and still, unwell, to the sound of his phone ringing.
He slowly pulls himself up in a sitting position, looking around, extremely disoriented. The lights are off and he’s still wearing his work uniform, his window wide open. He shivers from the chill that’s settled in his room, and he tries to focus his vision to see what time it is on the clock.
Hours have passed, that much he knows, but now Daron isn’t really sure he wants to know just how many. He remembers taking a couple bumps, and then…well, at least he’s still in his damn room.
The phone goes silent, and Daron sits on the edge of his bed, sniffling, and glancing around, trying to take his bearings. Physically, he doesn’t feel much better, but at least now the fucking noise in his head is gone. He feels like he can sort of breathe now, despite the twitch he can feel in his eye.
He jumps as the phone rings again, and he hisses in annoyance reaching over to grab it. Fuck. He was supposed to call Shavo. He already knows he has probably a million missed calls from him, and he rolls his eyes as he presses the answer button, already anticipating a lecture and more concerned questions, but he needs to take this so at least Shavo knows he isn’t fucking dead and leaves him alone. He presses the phone to his ear, and starts to glance around to see if he has another baggie, pressed secretly between more of his books.
The line clicks.
“Daron?”
His heart fucking stops. Daron freezes in place completely.
“Daron? Hey, are you there?” Serj’s quiet voice crackles into his right ear. Daron can’t fucking breathe anymore. His heart feels like it’s going to fucking explode. Fuck. Fuck.
“Daron?” He repeats, and Daron grasps for something in front of him to hold onto.
“Hey,” He says, finally, his voice cracking. It sounds rough, even to him, and he can’t imagine what it sounds like to Serj. He coughs, and rubs at the bridge of his nose with his hand, just trying to believe he isn’t completely fucked over right now, but knowing he is.
“Hi, Serj. Hi.”
“Daron…” He wants to hurl hearing the way Serj says it. He knows that Serj knows, and that Serj knows that Daron knows he knows. They both know, everyone fucking knows. And he hates how kind Serj is, and how he called him and how they’re here now. He hates everything about it. He hates that Serj cares enough to call him and talk to him, despite Daron being nothing but a complete freak to him as of lately, and Daron especially hates how much he wishes Serj would just come over and help him. Stop him, maybe.
“Hey, man, I’m good.” Daron says quickly, cutting off anything that could leave Serj’s mouth after that. “I’m fine, really.” Serj is quiet, and Daron takes in a deep breath, his chest rattling as he does so, and he holds in a cough. “Did Shavo send you after me?”
Daron tries to joke, but it sounds frail, even to him.
“Mmm, sort of.” Serj replies. “Well, yes. He did call and ask me to check up on you. He said you…weren’t doing the best, at work today. And that you were supposed to call him and you didn’t.”
“Yeah, I remember. Now.”
“Yes. And I did want to call you myself,”
It feels like being sucker-punched. “You did?” Daron asks, hesitantly.
“Mhm. I just…You worry me, Daron. Sometimes, you really do.”
Daron scoffs, unsure of what to say. Where to even begin with that. Shit.
“I worry you?”
“Yes. Sometimes you’re just…so unstable.” Serj’s voice has this weird pitch to it, and Daron just wants to hang up and do as many lines as he can, maybe rush out and buy some more before he even has time to think any fucking more, maybe fucking score some heroin too, because goddamn. But he just wants to hear Serj’s voice so badly right now, it fucking hurts.
“I’m not, um. I don’t want to be preachy, you know?” Serj continues after Daron stretches the silence. “Don’t wanna lecture you about how to live your life, you know? But sometimes…Daron,” He pauses a moment. “Daron, we all just want to be your friend. You know that, yes?”
Daron doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until that moment, when he struggles to inhale.
“Yeah. I know that, Serj.”
“Okay,” Serj sighs, his breath crackling over the phone. “Well, sometimes I feel that you forget.”
Daron wants to ask Serj what he means, but he’s really not in the headspace for Serj’s expansive mind right now. Actually, Daron is sort of feeling like he’s about to puke right now, and he really might, with the way this damn day is going.
“Thanks, man.” He winces, fisting the bed sheets beneath him. “Um, hey I really have to go. Can you, ah, tell Shavo I’m fine, and I’ll call him back later?”
“Daron, wait, do you need-”
“No, hey I just need to finish some stuff. You know, I’ve been slacking lately, ha ha. Like you said, I’ve been out of it lately.” Did he say that? How long has this phone call even been? “But hey, I appreciate it, Serj. I really do. Thank you, thank you. Let Shavo and David know I’m good, yeah?”
“David?” Serj echoes, and Daron grits his teeth for a moment, squeezing his eyes shut. “Daron, really, I’m not mad or busy. I can-”
“I’m sorry, Serj, I really have to go. Thank you, thanks. I’ll see you, okay? I will. Thank you. Thank you, bye.” Daron sputters, his heart twisting as he yanks the phone away from his ear as fast as he can, desperate to not hear any more from Serj if he can help it. He glances at the small screen, seeing exactly what he guessed - multiple missed calls and messages from Shavo. He groans, flinging the phone across the room, and burying his head in his hands, hunching over and just trying to breathe. He feels like he’s going to die, like he’s going to puke. Like something very bad is going to happen, and Daron knows he should’ve asked Serj to come over, should’ve said he can’t be alone right now and he needs him, he needs Serj so bad to just come over and be here with him, fucking something , but Daron can’t take it being around Serj anymore. It just makes him miserable, now, mostly.
After a couple minutes, he pushes himself up, sweat continuing to pour its way down his back, as he stumbles forward, yanking off his shirt and socks as he moves through his room. He thinks he hears his ringtone playing in the background, muffled by whatever it’s landed on, but he ignores it as he yanks book after book off his shelf, paging through them swiftly and hastily, trying to just fucking find it, goddamnnit. He can hear his heart pounding, and his shallow breathing, and the fucking blood rushing through his ears, which are ringing like motherfuckers, and everything gets louder and heavier and -
Daron’s hands find a small baggie in a paperback copy of The Catcher In The Rye. He almost bursts out laughing as he realizes it, the pages of Holden talking to his sister in their room flashing in front of his eyes briefly, before the book is dropped, and he shuffles his way over to his desk.
Daron is so excited his hands shake violently, nearly fumbling the entire bag and its contents, but he makes his way, cuts some downright terrible lines, and presses one of his nostrils flat and within seconds, feels like he’s been hooked to a ventilator and can at least sit down and breathe.
He shudders, finishing off what’s left, and then collapsing onto his desk chair, his head and veins buzzing, everything sort of blending together and shifting, maybe not into place, but into something better than what it just was.
He sits there, for how long he’s not sure, just listening to his thoughts, and going through the motions. Staring at the beige walls, and feeling a cold wind waft through his room, because he still hasn’t closed the window yet. After what could’ve been hours, or maybe four minutes, Daron carefully pulls himself to his feet, glancing down at his phone as he walks past, seeing the screen flash with a low battery warning, and more missed calls from Shavo. A few from Serj, as well. He sniffs hard, shakes his head, and then pads carefully into the bathroom down the hall.
The fluorescent lights in here are maybe worse than anything Daron’s experienced, but he ignores them, and the rattling, grating hum of the fan, as he settles at the edge of the sink, peering carefully at the reflection that’s greeting him in the mirror currently. David was right; Daron looks just fucking terrible. He really is a mess.
His hair is parted wrong and sticking up in the wrong places, and his eyes have these just deplorable circles underneath. His teeth are clenched together hard, and his skin is so shiny with sweat and this sickly tinge to it, Daron’s sort of amazed no one’s sat him down and told him he looks like he’s fucking dying, honestly.
He watches himself in the mirror, and tries to think of what’s even wrong. Why is he acting like this? Why is everything such a big deal? What is it that he just cannot take? Why can’t he breathe right now? Why is his heart beating like that? Why do his hands shake and tremble on the rim of the sink even though he’s just standing here? Why did Serj talk to him like that? Why’d he call him? Why’d David, of all people, even feel like he had to say something? Was it really that obvious to everyone around Daron, everyone who had even minor contact with him that he was really just one big mess? Was mess even the appropriate word? It was clear something had been going on with Daron lately, but what it was, Daron himself didn’t even know. But was everyone around him just watching, waiting for him to collapse? Mess wasn’t the right word, not at all. He was something beyond a mess, something else. Something…something…
Maybe he should call Shavo back. Or Serj. He kind of really wants to talk to Serj again, but he’s not sure if he trusts himself to. He especially doesn’t want to talk about this. Daron thinks about if he can even make a phone call right now - Hell, if he can even make it to the phone right now. He contemplates this, and as he does, he does something he hasn’t done in here in a long, long ass time.
He checks to make sure his spare razor blade is still pressed up inside the bathroom mirror, hidden.
*
Head groans as the ringtone of his phone cuts clear through his sleep. He’s wrapped up beneath layers of blankets, his head pressed into the back of Munky’s shoulders, and his arms wrapped tightly around him. He jolts as it rings, and Munky shifts next to him, letting out an irritated whisper.
“Who the fuck is calling you right now?” He murmurs, burying his face into the pillow, his back facing Head, making it difficult for Head to hear him. Head blinks, trying to clear the sleep from his eyes, and glancing over his shoulder at the clock.
“Fuckin’ no one important for this goddamn hour,” Head mutters, cinching his grip around Munky’s waist and inching closer to him. “Unless someone’s dying, I don’t give a fuck.” He slurs, pushing his face against Munky’s shoulder, who hums contentedly at his actions. The phone continues ringing, before suddenly cutting and going silent. Head feels some of the tension leave his shoulder as the silence filters back in, and he’s about to fall back into sleep when the phone starts fucking ringing again.
“Oh my fucking god,” he hisses, jerking upright. Munky hisses as Head moves quickly, and he rolls onto his back to watch Head lean over the nightstand, bracing himself with his right arm, turned away from Munky as he peers down at the phone. Munky blinks a couple times, trying to wake himself up, and reaches over to tug at Head’s waistband.
“Who is it?” Munky murmurs. Brian stays quiet for a second, and Munky blinks at the silence. “Head? Who is it?”
“‘S fuckin’ Shavo,” Head says quietly. Munky frowns, lifting himself upright to lean back on his elbows. He furrows his brow as he tries to peek over Head’s shoulder, both of them glancing down at the illuminated screen flashing Shavo’s name.
“Why the hell is he calling you?” Munky asks. Head’s frown deepens, and he stares at the screen hard. “I don’t know…”
Munky glances up at him, his eyes still slightly blurry with sleep. “Y’gonna answer…?”
“I don’t know,” Head repeats, swallowing hard. “Shavo wouldn’t call me this late unless he really needed something, right? I mean, he’s not that kind of dude.”
Munky makes an 'I don’t know' sound through a yawn. “You know him better than me.” Head rolls his eyes and Munky mocks him lightly before saying, “Yes, yes. He doesn’t seem like the type to call unless it was important. Sorry, princess,” But there’s no real annoyance in his voice. The phone goes silent again, and they both stare at it, anticipating another call. But one never comes. The phone continues to lay motionless and dark as they both sit there and watch it. Head doesn’t move, looking down at the phone in deep concentration, but Munky starts to shimmy himself back over to where he was sleeping.
“Hey, man, maybe he’s just high and called you on accident. C’mon, let’s go back to sleep.”
Brian hesitates, still watching the phone intently, but eventually relents as Munky continues to whine and ask him to come lay back down. He shuffles in close to Munky again, and curling around the other guy, a bit restless now.
“I wonder what he wanted…” Head murmurs, and Munky rolls his eyes. “Find out tomorrow. Too early.” Head hums in reply, and just as he does, the phone rings again.
“What the fuck!” Munky hisses, but Head bolts up, and swipes the phone from his nightstand quickly. Munky groans and rolls over onto his side, trying to shut out Head’s voice as he answers the phone.
“Hello?”
Head is greeted by a much more distinct voice, one that is not in fact Shavo’s.
“Brian?”
There’s really only one person with an Armenian accent who still calls him Brian.
Head frowns into the phone, and pauses, baffled.
“Serj?”
Munky peeks over his shoulder hearing the name, glancing at Head’s hunched figure curiously. Head’s hair hangs loosely around his face, swinging slightly as he stretches his neck. A streetlight’s soft beam peeks in through the window, lighting up the left side of Head’s body. James watches as it traces all his edges and curves, making him look rather like a painting, than his friend in the moment.
Head is silent, and Munky strains to listen to the conversation, but if it really is Serj, he has very little hope of actually hearing anything he says. Serj always talks quietly.
Head stays still as soft, garbled speech quietly murmurs into his ear, and Munky taps on his shoulder to try and get his attention to ask what it’s about, but Head doesn’t turn around. Munky taps on his spine and shoulder a few more times, before he brushes on Head’s wrist. Head doesn’t turn to face him, but he does grab Munky’s hand, pulling it across his waist with his own. Munky pauses as Head does this, and frowns as he watches him, trying to gauge some sort of verdict on what exactly is happening.
“Um, yeah, I can be there,” Head suddenly says. He nods a couple times, before continuing. “Uh-huh. You need me to, uh, bring anything? Okay. Yeah. The one on the East side? Okay. Yeah. Yeah. Okay, see you. Yeah, no, ah, problem, man. Yeah. Bye.”
He wordlessly hangs up the phone, and sets it down on the nightstand. Munky watches him, perplexed.
“Hey,” Munky whispers, even though it’s just them. It always is.
“Head. Hey. What was it?” Munky repeats, putting pressure against Head’s stomach, right near his belly button, in an attempt to get his attention.
Head turns to face him, and breathes deeply. He crawls over to Munky, on top of him, and presses his face right into Munky’s right shoulder. Munky blinks in confusion, but wraps his arms around Head’s shoulders.
“Head,” He murmurs into his ear. “Where do you have to be? What’s goin’ on?”
Head mumbles something into Munky’s shirt, and Munky flicks him lightly on his bicep.
“Can’t hear you, man.”
“Malakian tried to kill himself.” Head whispers, lifting his face up a few inches. “Sorry. Daron.”
Munky looks at him with wide eyes, Head’s face just a few centimeters away from his, his eyes half-closed but looking wide awake underneath. He has a weird, unreadable expression, and his thumbs rub at Munky’s ribs from where he has them planted firmly on each side of Munky, acting as some sort of anchor.
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. I wouldn’t joke about that shit, Munk.” Head mumbles. He presses his face to the side of Munky’s, his breathing tickling Munky’s ear.
“Fuck,” Munky breathes out. “Yep,” Head sighs.
“Is he okay?”
Head hums. “Well, some sore wrists, I’d imagine.” He dryly chuckles at that, and Munky wants to as well, to ease his nerves but he just can’t. He keeps thinking about how Daron was just in this room with them. How he just saw Daron, and how he spoke to them and talked with them mostly normally just a couple days ago. And now he’s lying in a hospital bed, his friends having to call people to help.
“Why’d they call you? Was that Serj?” Munky asks.
“Well, Shavo called me twice, but was freaking out too bad for a third. So Serj got him to give him my number, so he could tell me. He sounded pretty freaked, y’know? So, I think it was pretty bad,”
Munky nods, reaching one of his hands out to hold the nape of Brian’s neck, his fingers tracing the skin there softly. He feels kind of nauseous thinking about this, and Head shivers at his touch.
“But he said the doctors said he’ll be okay, but they, uh, want me t’ go to the hospital and keep them company, I guess. I don’t know why, Daron doesn’t even fucking like me, y’know? But I think they’re just really freaking out right now.”
“Can’t blame them,” Munky sighs. Head nods, pulling his face back and leaning over Munky, his eyes twitching back and forth as they run over Munky’s face. His twists swing around his face, framing it neatly and making him look very handsome, Munky thinks. He looks younger, like this. More like the scared little boy that sort of makes an appearance when Head and Jon get to talking late at night.
“You okay?” Munky blinks up at him, and Head chuckles. “I don’t think I’m the one you should be asking that, man.”
“I know,” Munky grins, tightly. “But, y’know.”
“I know?”
“Yes. I worry.”
“Fag,” Brian huffs, but he follows it up with a chaste kiss pressed to the corner of Munky’s mouth. Munky catches it, kissing him back softly. They work their mouths against each other for a moment, before Munky pulls back, pressing his palm to Head’s forehead to hold him back.
“Hey, this is kind of inappropriate, y’know.” He giggles, but there’s a heavy weight on his chest when he thinks about it. Head tucks his face into the crook of Munky’s neck, biting at the skin lightly. “Malakian would sell me to European traders for a pack of cigarettes, I think this is fine.”
“You would do the same,” Munky laughs, pushing him away.
“Damn straight,” Head sighs, leaning back on his heels. He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “Okay. I gotta get goin’. Before Shavo’s next.”
“Jesus, man,” Munky half-laughs. “Wait, I’ll come with you.” He adds once he sees Head get up and walk over to the other side of the room and pull a hoodie on over himself without a shirt. He looks up at Munky as he clambers out of the bed, digging around for his jeans.
“Actually?”
“Yes,” Munky mutters, wrestling on his least dirty pair. “I’m not gonna let you drive to the hospital across town at one in the morning.” He catches Head’s eye as he peeks over his shoulder, and grins. “And I told you. I worry.”
Head walks over to Munky, and grabs his face, pressing another kiss onto his lips. Munky hums appreciatively and kisses back, but Head holds his close and with pressure, kissing back like he really means it.
“Thanks,” He murmurs, pressing one last kiss to Munky’s temple, relief visible in every part of his body. Munky hums in response.
*
“Hey.” Shavo is jolted awake by Serj kneeing him. He fumbles slightly, and looks up to see Head and Munky making their way over to them. He feels relief flood his senses, sucking in a breath as they settle down into the chairs across from them.
“Thank you, God. I’m so sorry,” Shavo rambles as soon as they look up at him and Serj. It all just tumbles out, before Shavo can even think. “I didn’t know who else to call. I’m sorry, I-”
“Hey, it’s cool. Relax,” Head interrupts him, holding his hands up. He looks tired, not very put together in a stained hoodie and faded pair of shorts. Munky has darker circles under his eyes, but looks friendly, still, towards Serj and Shavo.
“We uh, brought you guys some beer.” He says. Shavo blinks at him.
“Huh?”
Head glances over at Munky, who slips a thermos out from underneath his shirt, passing it to Head, who reaches it over to Shavo.
“I haven’t gotten paid yet, and we didn’t really have any food, so…” Head mumbles, but Shavo takes the thermos and bursts out laughing as he does. He tucks his face into his elbow, giggling into the fabric of his sweatshirt. This whole situation is so surreal, he wonders if he’s going to wake up and find himself greening out in Daron’s room again. It’s such a nice thought he lingers on it for a moment, before pulling his face back up into reality and looking at Head and Munky, who look tense but have this faint relief on their faces.
“Thanks. Fuck,” Shavo sniffles, wiping at his eyes that he now realizes are slightly damp. When did that happen?
“Of course, man,” Munky says. His eyes shift over from Shavo to Serj. His eyebrows crease into a worried line. “How’re you guys holding up?”
Shavo lets out a heavy sigh, shaking his head in response. He doesn’t even know where to start, but he gets the feeling that Munky understands. He knew Head would bring him along if he asked him to come. Shavo can’t even remember seeing one without the other, really. They’re always together - permanently attached.
Beside him, Serj shrugs. “Well,” He begins, and then trails off. Shavo assumes he’s in a similar position to him. What the hell can they even say about this? Twenty minutes ago Shavo was hunched over one of the toilets, Serj rattling the stall door and asking him to open up, to just talk and that it was okay, the doctors said it would be okay, just come here and talk, Shavo, please, and Shavo was too focused on the water pooled below him and the harsh smell of sterile chemicals that this entire place just reeked of.
But Munky and Head are here now. Shavo takes a gulp of the beer, and shivers.
“We should’ve saved some of that Jack Daniels,” He mutters, and Head and Munky laugh. Serj sighs, and presses his hand over his mouth.
“Um,” Head says after it’s gone quiet for a stretched out moment. “How’s he doing?”
Shavo glances at Serj, as if to ask if he wants to answer. Serj blinks at him with his soft eyes, and then sits up straighter. Shavo’s slightly relieved. His stomach is still spinning, and he’s just trying to focus on not puking right here on his shoes.
“The doctors said he’s okay…not too deep, so,” Serj breathes in deeply. “Scarring, yes, but ah, he should be okay after a few weeks. A month or so, yes? He’s going to be put on watch. They already gave him stitches, and they’re monitoring him all close, you know? Luckily he lives with his parents still, so he’ll have someone to watch him closely when he gets out.”
“They don’t like to leave suicidal people alone,” Shavo blurts without thinking, and avoids Serj’s gaze after he says that.
Munky nods, and below the wooden arm rests of the chair, Shavo notices that Head tries to sneakily slip his hand under, tugging at James’ shirt for a second before Munky moves his wrist by Head’s. Shavo watches them intertwine fingers, subtly. Shavo glances at Serj, and thinks about all the times Daron got drunk with him recently and mumbled something about being in love with him. Shavo wonders if Serj knows. Surely he has to. Serj is smart, too smart for Daron and Shavo, honestly. He picks up on all the little things, he always can see those kinds of hints.
Usually, anyways.
“Is…he?” Head asks, snapping Shavo out of his hung-together-by-a-thread thought process. He blinks.
“Hmm?”
Head rubs at the back of his neck with his unoccupied hand. “Is he…is Daron like, suicidal?”
Shavo stares at him for a moment, rubbing his hands over the fabric of his sleeve. Well, Daron just dragged a razor blade down his fucking wrists after doing several lines of speed and coke. So what does that make you? Stupid? Well, Daron’s not that stupid, Shavo knows that much. He knew Daron knew exactly what he was doing, it’s not like coke just makes you think those sorts of things are fine. Shavo hasn’t done it, but he’s been around Daron long enough to know. He knows Daron, or at least he thought he did. Shavo feels like he doesn’t fucking know anything anymore. He’s in the fucking hospital at three in the fucking morning because his best friend in the entire world just tried to off himself. Who is he to be making any sort of character judgements right now?
“I guess so,” Shavo rasps, holding out his hands.
“It’s been building up,” Serj adds quietly, and that’s how Shavo knows that Serj knows. It clicks into place there, after he says that. He gets it. Shavo takes another deep breath.
“Shit,” Head sighs. He glances at Munky. Munky chews his lip.
“Maybe that’s why he’s been getting along so well with Jon.”
Head snorts at that, and then he looks at Shavo and Serj and his eyes go really big and he slaps a hand over his mouth.
“’M sorry.”
Shavo shrugs, because hey, maybe Munky’s got a point. Shavo doesn’t know Jon that well, but he knows enough.
They all four sit there in silence, that’s kind of awkward but not too much. Shavo watches the other two whisper back and forth to each other, occasionally sending weird glances around the room or at him and Serj, their heads bowed close together. Even if they weren’t holding hands, everything they do is so weirdly intimate, Shavo feels intrusive for even being around it right now. He glances up and over at Serj, who’s still just sitting there, leaned back in his chair, his hands folded in his lap, eyes fixed on something Shavo can’t see.
“You think he’s gonna do this again?” Shavo murmurs, not even fully sure what he's asking. Serj blinks, fiddles with his hands some more.
“I think he should try to get off the fuckin’ stimulants before he worries about his brain.”
Shavo snorts, because it’s such an uncharacteristic thing for Serj to say, but at the same time it makes sense. And Shavo is just so, so tired. He wants to fall on his couch, and just sleep, maybe forever. Forget that this is just where they’re all at in their life. He’s in his early twenties, not in college, not making a career of himself. He’s getting drunk with his friends on weekdays, watching two of them not date, but not not be dating, watching his friend nearly overdose on stimulants and then try to kill himself. Shavo’s parents were married and buying a house at his age. And he’s sitting here, waiting in a hospital for when he can go see his friend who wants to kill himself. He takes another sip from the thermos.
“Rehab’s gonna kick his ass.” He sighs, more to himself than Serj.
“You think he can do it?”
“If he can’t, we’ll kick his ass.” Shavo mutters. “You think he can?”
Serj makes eye contact with him, but before he can answer, a nurse walks up to them and tells them that they can see Daron when they’re ready.