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1.
Andy’s entire life had fallen apart in two hours.
Six years ago, he would’ve scorned himself for referring to Fall Out Boy as his 'life', considering everything he had gone through in an attempt to try and avoid joining it. Four albums later, though, he could confidently say that his life had been surrounding that band from the moment he joined- no, not even that- from before he had even joined.
He had a complicated relationship with the band, always had. He never hated it, but he hadn’t always loved it- it was an extra organ that didn’t especially have any function in his body, but he knew there would be a cavity in his ribcage without it.
He was mourning.
That was the only way he could really think to explain it- he was barely past the stage of comprehending the grief that was striking him right in the heart. Fall Out Boy was taking a break.
Indefinitely.
There had been a lot of shouting in the meeting, crosstalk stopping anyone from saying anything worthwhile. It had only been when he hadn’t been able to cope with the horrible insults that were coming from all sides that he spoke up, raising his voice and telling them all to shut up. They’d all been so horrible to each other, and he supposed he really started to understand it at that point- the band hadn’t been alive for so long. It had been slowly dying and all of them had refused to see it.
Patrick wasn’t budging, had laid out all his reasons for wanting a break before things deteriorated and the shouting match began. There was an accusation somewhere in the crossfire- Andy couldn’t remember who it came from- but they had demanded that it was Pete who needed time away from the band the most, and that had been the exact thing to make him turn nasty.
Andy often thought that Fall Out Boy had been like a parasite in Pete’s life- since Cork Tree, really; his life hadn’t been his own. He’d been laid on a table for all to see, and the journalists and tabloids sliced right down his chest, dishing out his organs for anyone and everyone who cared to take them. It was symbiotic, though; Pete loved it in the same way bushes loved garden shears. He needed a break, but he refused.
Joe hadn’t been right for a while. He hadn’t given any reasons for wanting to take a break, but the fact he always had a beer in hand wasn’t good for him. He didn’t give much of anything away at that point in time, just stumbled from his green room onto the stage without so much as a second glance at them besides the handshake they did before every show.
After Andy had broken up the screaming, the eyes on him had felt far too inspecting. He hated being watched, or judged; and even more so when it was coming from the people he had considered family for so long. They looked at him like he was crazy for suggesting they tone it down; and a sick nausea burrowed its way into his stomach.
Then Patrick’s expression had hardened, his mouth drawing into a thin line and his eyebrows furrowing as he had spoken,
“Do you really want to keep going like this? It’s fucking horrible.”
Yes.
The answer had been yes.
Selfishly, he wanted to drag the corpse of the band along and keep it going because he didn’t know what else to fill his time with. Selfishly, he didn’t care if Patrick and Joe needed to take things slowly for their health; because he didn’t know how to move slowly, and it scared him. Selfishly, he wanted to ignore that Pete’s want to continue was just another way to ignore and downplay his own feelings.
But he had never been selfish. He never afforded himself that right.
So he looked at Patrick- so set on getting his way; Joe- hands itching over a rolled cigarette, waiting to leave; and Pete- eyes wide and glassy; and he refused to acknowledge what he felt. It wasn’t about him. He couldn’t afford to prioritise himself, and he was struggling to remember a time where his wants had taken precedence over the band.
He couldn’t think of one example. And so he said ‘no’ .
That was that, then- he didn’t really remember what had happened after that, beyond the fact that Patrick had stood up and thanked them all before leaving, like it was a job interview, or a business transaction. It felt so cold that it had left a heavy silence in the room after him. At some point, Pete had stormed out too, and Joe finally put the cigarette between his lips and slipped away.
Andy’s life had fallen apart, and he couldn’t even get away from it. They still had half a tour left to get through- show after show of being booed left to sift through. Fall Out Boy was dead and he had the feeling that he was going to be the only one willing to drag its corpse across the finish line. He’d have to hold a funeral for it, and he could picture himself there, standing amongst the pews in front of the coffin like it was the only place he had ever belonged.
He had sat, alone in the practice room, for ten minutes- silent and unmoving. He wondered exactly when processing bad news had become so difficult for him, when he could be paralysed by something as small as the concept of taking a break. That was it. Just a break, is all. Although no one had mentioned the possibility of reuniting one day; no one had certainly said the other way, either. There was still a chance he would get his life back.
He just needed to survive until then.
Eventually he slumped over, letting out a groaned breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding in. He drank in the darkness of the backs of his eyelids as he just sat with his head in his hands, getting briefly caught in a fantasy of staying suspended in that non-space for eternity. The thought alarmed him enough to stand up and grab his jacket. He needed to get out of there. He needed to sleep.
It wasn’t that he was angry with the others, but fear and anger often felt the same to him, and after he had spent so much of his early life consumed by a mix of the two; it was an easy trap to fall back into. He felt those same all-consuming jitters in his arms that had resulted in holes in the walls and bloody knuckles so often in his late teens and early twenties. He didn’t think he should be driving, but it wasn’t like anyone was going to give him a lift back.
As he breached the door to the building and came into the car park, he was taken by how ugly the world was. Autumn was in full swing, and the trees had surpassed their muted orange-leaf phase, instead starting to actually look like they were rotting. It was overcast and the chill in the air wasn’t even contrasted by a warm sun. It was miserable, and he supposed that was a cruel joke from some God looking down on him.
He made it halfway across the parking lot before he heard Joe’s voice calling to him from behind, a siren song he never was able to ignore. He stilled, building up the courage to turn around- he was concerned his control would slip for a moment and he would say something he regretted.
But when he eventually did move to face his friend, he knew he could never say an ill word about Joe.
“Wait up.” He called out, stubbing his cigarette out on the floor before slowly jogging over, “Where are you heading?”
“Home. Where else would I go?”
Joe inspected him for a moment, eyes narrowed like he was looking for something specific,
“Cool. Hey, look, I was just coming over to say… sorry.” He had the decency to look a little sheepish, assuring his apology was genuine, at the very least, “This isn’t ideal.”
“I mean, all three of you wanted it- or needed it, in Pete’s case.”
“You’re a part of the band too.”
“Who’s to say I don’t want it as well?”
“I know you don’t.”
Andy stared for a moment. There really was no point in arguing, and if there was, he didn’t even want to chance another argument arising. The shouting inside had already worn him out enough to not willingly go through it again.
Thankfully, Joe didn’t wait for a response before continuing,
“I really am sorry, Andy. I’m not… entirely well at the moment, and this isn’t helping. Pete and Patrick can’t stand each other right now, I can’t stand them right now; and you… well, you’re caught in the crossfire like you always are. It’s not fair on any of us.”
The ‘but it’s for the best’ was on Joe’s tongue, Andy knew it, but it was never said aloud.
“What’s important to me is that you have the space to get better.” He said, and he wasn’t necessarily lying, but he was trying to steer the conversation away from him and his feelings, “If you need anything, you know where to find me.”
“That goes both ways.” Joe replied in earnest, “You know I would do the same for you, right? If you need to talk about this all, I’ll listen.”
Andy knew it was probably an incredibly good idea to confess to someone that he felt just a little bit like the anger consuming him was going to kill him; but as he stared at Joe and tried to agree, tried to think of how to word his thoughts, he found that they wouldn’t leave his throat.
So he forced a smile and said ‘I’m good.’ .
“Cool, cool.” Joe shrank back slightly, and it wasn’t entirely clear if he saw through the lie, “I’ll see you later, man.”
Andy responded with the same sentiment before turning and climbing into his car before anything else could be said. As soon as he hit the motorway, with his music turned up as loud as it would go; he broke down. After the sobbing got so bad he almost swerved into the barriers in the centre of the road, he pulled over into a layby until the fit passed.
He was tempted, as he looked out his window, to run into the forest at the side of the road and never come back. That would get rid of the unknown in the situation- they would never start Fall Out Boy up again without him, and he knew that. It wouldn’t be so bad to take the option away from them now, would it?
Instead, he drove home in silence and went straight to bed, despite it being early afternoon.
His life was over, and it hurt so bad.
2.
“Delete the fucking tweet, Hurley.”
Pete had barged into Andy’s greenroom, a vein bulging in his head and his phone held firmly in his hand. He hadn’t said hello or greeted Andy in any way, had just thrown open the door and demanded he delete a tweet.
“...Uh- what?”
Andy had been halfway through a Batman comic, and he never really liked being interrupted on his good days; but especially not considering the state of everything as it stood. They were in the last few dates of their tour, barely scraping by; and the tension was getting worse and worse. Pete, Patrick, and Joe knew they were about to be rid of each other, and it seemed like none of them could wait a few more weeks for it. Patrick had gotten into a fistfight with Joe a couple of days prior, for the first time since Cork Tree, and it made Andy feel kinda hopeless.
“You know what I’m talking about, dipshit- the fuck were you thinking?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve tweeted a lot in the past week. Can you use your words and explain instead of just waving an angry finger in my face?”
He wasn’t trying to be bitter, or sarcastic, but he’d failed pretty spectacularly and he watched as Pete’s jaw tensed and he white-knuckled his phone like was about to crush it with the power of how fucking pissed he was.
He spoke through gritted teeth, moving even closer into Andy’s personal space,
“You replied to a tweet saying we’re going on ‘hiatus’ .”
Andy couldn’t help but to throw his head back and laugh because it had to be a joke. He couldn’t conceive why telling the truth would be a problem, and he didn’t really know what had got Pete so riled up. Sure, they hadn’t announced their break yet; but someone had tweeted him asking about their plans after the current tour, and he had seen no reason to lie, and so had responded with a short reply of ‘we’re going on hiatus’ .
Pete didn’t find it as funny.
“If you keep fucking laughing, I’m going to beat the shit out of you, you fucking asshole! Delete the tweet.”
“It’s not that big of a deal!”
“We’re not going on hiatus, Hurley!”
At that, Andy stopped laughing all together. He furrowed his eyebrows, finally putting his comic down on the sofa beside him and directing his entire attention towards Pete. He felt that horrible, naive spark of hope light up in his chest again; and he cursed himself for being so susceptible that he let himself believe there was hope for the band.
“We’re not? I thought we-” He paused, frowning because he clearly wasn’t understanding, “-we agreed we were taking a break?”
“A break is not a hiatus. A hiatus implies that we’ll be back.”
The spark went out in an instant, and Andy felt quite frankly fucking miserable.
“We never said we wouldn’t come back.” He muttered, barely able to raise his voice for fear of being ridiculed for his attachment to the band, considering he seemed to be the only one who still had it, “I would like to get back together, when we’re all better.”
Pete’s face twitched towards something resembling sadness, but it was quickly replaced with a calculated facade of anger. Andy knew- he could see - that Pete didn’t want to go on a break at all, but he was trying to force himself into wanting it. It was obvious to Andy, who had known him for so long; and it was fucking uncomfortable to see him pretend like he didn’t care, to act like an asshole like he always did when he got defensive. It was his coping mechanism, to push people away so he didn’t have to cope with losing them; but it never stopped hurting.
“Yeah, well it’s probably not gonna go that way. This shit is toxic.”
“I don’t think so. I don’t think the band is the problem here. I’ve accepted that we’re having a break, but I’m not losing all of my hope just yet.”
Truth be told, it was more like he was desperately trying to hold onto the tiny specks of hope that were left behind, but they were small and kept slipping out of his hands and flying up, up, up; into the sky where he’d never be able to reach them. The others had a net- could easily help him catch them; but they weren’t. They didn’t want to.
“Well I’ve accepted that this is over. You can have your hope all you want, but don’t delude our fans with that. Delete the tweet.”
Andy had always been able to take a certain amount of shit from people around him; but at that point in time where everything around him was falling apart, he was desperate to cling onto any sort of control that he could find; and he had no intention of letting Pete treat him like that.
“Not when you’re talking to me like this.” He kept his voice level, assuring he didn’t provoke, “I know this is hard, believe me, I know; but you can’t use it as an excuse to treat me like shit. I didn’t make the band go on a hiatus, or a break, or whatever you want to call it. I’m not at fault here, and you need to stop treating me like I am.”
Pete’s gaze flicked from side to side like he couldn’t quite work out which of Andy’s eyes to focus on. He fell silent, keeping up the stare for a minute or so before he couldn’t anymore and looked down to his hands, fiddling with his phone. He went to respond a few times, but never got further than a squeak as his asshole facade slipped away slowly but surely.
When he eventually found his words, there was no anger behind it anymore,
“I’m sorry. I don’t- I never wanted-” He cleared his throat, “You’re right. I- just- I guess all of it is scaring me. I have accepted that the band’s done, I really have; but I still have big feelings about it.”
“I assure you we all do, Pete, it’s natural.”
“Look, just- just delete the tweet, okay? We’ll come up with some official statement to get it over and done with, something we’re all happy with.”
“You know that’s not going to happen.” Andy huffed, picking up his comic again, “We haven’t agreed on anything since you wanted me to join the band.”
Pete’s face cycled through expressions of heartbreak, frustration, and then settled on nonchalant annoyance,
“Whatever, dude.”
And then he was alone again.
The greenroom suddenly felt far too big for him to be sitting in all alone. He became aware of the plain white walls and stained brown carpet- a room with absolutely nothing in it besides a sofa, a mirror, and a TV set. It was like his worst nightmare, really, he pictured being trapped there forever being driven mad by the nothing, nothing, nothing.
On stage he was something, he was a part of something- he was at least one out of four, part of a team, he could hear everyone screaming for them; and it wasn’t about the fact they were screaming for them, but that they were screaming in the first place. He knew he was alive when he was playing, but in blank greenrooms, there was no proof he was existing, no proof he was living.
In the greenroom, he was just as dead as Fall Out Boy was.
And as he thought more and more about it, his apartment looked exactly like the greenroom. Shitty wallpaper from the last tenant that he hadn’t changed since moving in three years ago, carpet with a deep black stain from when he’d spilt maple syrup weeks back. The mirrors, too, the mirrors he’d mounted in just about every room because he was older now, he didn’t shy away every time he saw himself reflected back anymore.
He didn’t think he could stand to see himself alone, though. Without the band, he’d have to look at himself, not what he had done. There would be nothing to distract from the things he hated.
“FUCK!”
Andy was miserable.
And it wasn’t that he was even angry at Pete- he didn’t care that Pete was angry and he never had- he had known his friend for long enough to know that he didn’t mean anything by it, and he would hold Pete accountable for it when the time was right. For now, he was dead in the middle of a boring fucking room; and the rest of the world was nothing but a graveyard.
He would survive- he knew he would, because he always did. The moment he met the others backstage, he would put on a brave face and be the one for everyone else to lean on. He would play their songs, he would guide them; and he would try to forget how their remaining shows were nothing but obituaries.
“Knock knock…”
Joe was lingering in the door of Andy’s greenroom. His was just across the hall, and it occurred to Andy that Pete hadn’t shut the door after he’d stormed in; which meant Joe had heard everything. He closed his eyes, trying to pretend like he was somewhere else- just enough to give him the stability to not burst into tears- and then he put on the brave face far sooner than he had expected.
“Hey, dude.”
“Nah, don’t do that, man.” He muttered, coming inside and sitting beside Andy, putting an arm around his shoulder, “C’mere.”
Andy hesitated, but eventually leant into the touch, his head resting against Joe’s shoulder. He didn’t say anything, just felt the quiet thumping heartbeat coming from Joe’s chest. He was glad at least one of them was still alive.
“I’ll delete the fucking tweet.” He eventually managed to force out, half muffled by Joe’s jacket, “Get off my back about it.”
“I don’t care, dude. I actually, probably, genuinely couldn't care less. I don’t care if you went onto twitter and declared that we all never wiped after shitting and that was why you decided to put an end to the band.”
That managed to tease a laugh out of him.
“It’s a tough one, for sure.” Joe shrugged with the shoulder not currently being used as a pillow, “But- like- I’m not gonna get mad at you for handling it how you want, you know? You deserve that much, at least.”
Andy wasn’t too sure what he deserved. Well, he had gotten everything he needed, really- he put the effort into the band and he had gotten a decent amount of savings and a little bit of fame- that was what his job entailed at its very core. He’d never done it for money, or to be known, though; hated both of those concepts as a matter of fact. Fall Out Boy had been for the fun of it, to spend time with his friends; and that had been the one thing that hadn’t lasted. He’d made a deal with the devil and lost on a technicality.
“We don’t have long left.”
“Yeah, I’m looking forward to not sleeping in a hotel. I’ve got these really fucking good orthopedic pillows at home, and my back fucking aches when I don’t sleep with them.”
“Why don’t you bring them with you on tour?”
“...Huh, I never considered that. I mean, I won’t have to worry about that soon enough.”
Andy felt the adrenaline build in his body at that, at how Joe could so easily shrug off everything they had built for like it would be a pleasure to stop playing as a band; to stop being Fall Out Boy. He didn’t know why he couldn’t treat the break as something that didn’t matter like everyone else seemed to be able to.
“Sure.”
Joe seemed to notice his discomfort,
“Look, it sucks; but I just think we need to… not be in each other’s space every minute of every day.”
Andy pulled away from the half-hug, leaning away from Joe on the sofa.
“I didn’t mean it like that-” Joe tried to argue, but Andy continued to move away from his outstretched hand, “Andy, dude, if you need me here I’ll be here- you know I will.”
What he did know was that Joe seemed overjoyed to be freed of the band, and judging by his words he would be glad to be alone, too. Andy did have to admit, it was hard to feel like his own person when lumped in with the sum of the parts of Fall Out Boy; but it was a shared anonymity that he revelled in. He couldn’t stand the idea of pulling someone else into it if they clearly didn’t want to be there.
He couldn’t stand the idea of letting Joe know exactly how much he was against the break. He didn’t want to influence anyone else’s decision- knew he was in the minority anyway for wanting to stay together; couldn’t even forgive himself for selfishly craving it.
“You said it how it’s gotta be, Joe. We need space. Nothing will get better if we’re just all up in each other's business all the time.” He took a measured breath in and out, “I’m fine. Glad, even.”
“Are you sure?”
“Always am.” He smiled.
Joe stared for a few moments, trying to discern Andy’s expression, but didn’t seem to find what he wanted, and so just stood and made his way towards the door. He looked like he was about to say something before he left, but instead just turned and paused, taking one last look at Andy before shaking his head and leaving.
Being alone really didn’t feel any better than being shouted at by Pete. Andy once again had half the mind to leave the venue and run away- take a bus to the middle of nowhere and leave it all.
A techie popped her head into the room,
“Stage in 5, please!”
“I’ll be right there.” He smiled.
3.
Andy was half-way through assembling a flatpack shelf unit when Joe turned up.
It had been a month or so since their last show on the tour, and since their last tour as a band. He’d headed home the same night they finished, catching a late flight and returning just as the sun was beginning to rise. He hadn’t brought any of his luggage, just left other people to figure it out for him; and it was almost worrying even to him that he couldn’t even bring himself to care about the things he’d lost with that suitcase. It didn’t really matter, in the grand scheme of things, to lose some clothes- even if his favourite hoodie was a part of that.
He’d sat on his sofa, turning the TV on to some shitty B Movie; and had proceeded to cry himself to sleep. He’d awoken a whole twenty-six hours later to the sound of knocking at his door; but with the pain in his stomach from not eating and the throbbing headache from not drinking, he didn’t even bother to stand and get it.
A pile of letters was building by the front door, and he had just been shoving them to one side to take in the takeout he ordered when he didn’t have the brainpower to consider cooking with how little he had in the cupboards. It wasn’t like he exactly saw the point in going shopping when he could have people bring the food to him.
It had been getting worse since the band started taking their break. He would stare at his calendar- the one that he had pinned to the side of his fridge- and he would see nothing. It was completely empty. He had nothing to fill the days with, and no desire to seek out anything besides Fall Out Boy.
He’d put his drum kit up for sale on Facebook marketplace the week prior, and he was hoping no one would buy it. It was like staring at an open wound- made him feel miserable- but he had only put it on sale as a formality, as a way to try and fix how he was feeling. He had gone everywhere with that kit, the last thing he needed was to lose another thing- it was like some sort of self-flagellation every time he checked to see if it had been bought.
On days where he did managed to get out of bed, he would swamp himself in the largest hoodie he could find- without the band he was without any distraction from his body, and though he could trick his dysphoria each time he took his testosterone shot; he couldn’t shake the fact that he still hadn’t had gotten as close to his ideal body as he had wanted to by that point in his life.
He’d barely been able to find the time to have his top surgery considering the non-stop album and touring cycle they’d been stuck in since they were kids- and that had been a problem in itself. He’d taken a couple of weeks out of the beginning of the Folie album sessions, as it had aligned with the tail end of his healing process. When he’d returned, no one was talking to each other- he’d missed another argument and it had been big.
He was getting angrier about it all.
He was still sad- well, sad was a little bit too casual for how he felt. He had fallen a bit too far into the huge deep hole and had come out the other side, and he was pissed about it all. Pissed that every single person in that damn band had given up and decided that beating the shit out of each other was a far better idea than actually talking about their problems.
And the thing was- Andy was aware that it was likely to just be his brain trying to make himself feel better about it all- if he hated them, then he wouldn’t have any need to grieve losing them. Being aware of that fact didn’t stop him from falling into that cycle, though. It was just so easy to hate .
So there he was, in his shitty apartment, trying to assemble an IKEA shelf unit, and he couldn’t find his screwdriver.
It had been right there, he’d been unscrewing something after he’d fucked up; but he put it down and then it seemed to have disappeared into the shadow dimension. Usually, this wouldn’t have been a problem, but considering he was consumed with hatred at that point in time, losing it actually felt like the worst thing that had ever happened to him.
With the window open, letting in the heat to try and cool down his perpetually hot living room, he was sitting amongst a sea of bubble wrap and wooden slabs in nothing but a shirt and his boxers. He’d only tried to add some sort of personality to his place, make it feel less like a soulless cavern; and the whole thing had backfired. Come to think of it, that was what the band had been like.
He gave up, leaning against the sofa from where he was on the floor, and just a moment after that breath of relief, the doorbell rang. It was just his luck that he was expecting a food delivery around that time- usually he had a habit of ignoring whoever was at the door until they left him the fuck alone.
Joe was at his door.
“Oh.”
“The fuck you mean ‘oh’? You not happy to see me, dude?” Joe grinned.
He looked healthy- a lot more than he did on that last tour. There wasn’t a trace of any dark bags under his eyes, his smile didn’t seem forced in any way, and his pupils looked average-sized. Andy felt that little bitter voice in his head cycle through every horrible thing he could say, every way he could turn Joe away, and every reason why he could just nip that friendship in the bud.
He just stared, though, dumbfounded at both Joe’s appearance and how vile his own thoughts were.
“Are you gonna invite me in?”
“Why do you want to come in?” He knew he sounded rude, but it was far better than what his brain had been telling him to say.
Joe tilted his head in confusion, smirking slightly,
“To see my friend. Spend time together. Hang out. Chat. Converse. You know, normal human things.”
Andy hadn’t felt like a human for a while- he didn’t know if he wanted to indulge in that type of stuff, let alone if he even could, anymore. Something had happened to him when he’d walked off stage at their last show. He’d changed, become something so vile and horrible that his mind had been twisted to the point that he didn’t even know what was wrong.
But something was wrong.
Joe’s expression softened as he inspected Andy’s face,
“Hey, dude, I’m gonna come in if that’s okay.” He placed a hand on Andy’s shoulder as he slipped past, closing the door gently behind him, “I can make you a cup of tea if you’d like?”
Andy wanted to warn him that the place was a mess, that he hadn’t been able to clean (and that he had barely been able to move); but no words were coming out of his mouth and he let himself be guided to his own damn living room where he saw the mess of bubble wrap, packaging, and shelves covering the floor. He felt so fucking ashamed of what he had become.
The kitchen was a lot worse, but he didn’t get to warn Joe before he was left alone in the living room again. He didn’t know what he was thinking, really; he didn’t even have anything to put on the shelf unit. The bookshelves that already decorated his house were filled with books, vinyls, awards, and pictures of him and the rest of the band. They weren’t going to be awarded any more awards unless it was for ‘world’s most dysfunctional band’; and he hadn’t read anything in almost a year. It was another attempt at filling the empty hole inside him.
A couple minutes later, Joe reemerged with two mugs and an unflappable expression,
“Sit down, dude, it’s what the couch is for.”
He sat down.
Joe sat next to him.
“Do you want to…” He paused, forgetting what people did when they were together, “Watch a movie?”
“I was kinda wondering if we could chat about something?” Joe took a sip but quickly put his mug down when he noticed Andy’s panicked response, “Not- nothing bad! It’s- it’s great, I swear! It’s all good. Promise.”
“Don’t-”
He cut himself off.
“Don’t what?”
Don’t make promises you can’t keep.
Andy frowned, quickly coming up with something less rude to respond with,
“Don’t… do that to me.” He tried to force out a laugh, “Starting a sentence like that gave me a damn heart attack.”
“Shit, sorry dude, that’s my bad.” Joe seemed to ease slightly then, like Andy was doing a good job pretending to be a person. He slid the other mug of tea across the table, towards Andy, before continuing, “Cool shelf. Where are you gonna put it?”
“I don’t know, really. Was gonna work that out after I built it, but that’s taking fucking forever. Lost my damn screwdriver.”
It was at that point that Joe shifted where he sat, reaching down behind the pillow he was sitting on, concentrating. Eventually he produced the screwdriver and held it up with a quiet ‘ta-da!’ , followed by a ‘I swore I was sitting on something’ .
“Huh. There it is.” Andy stared at the thing for a moment before he found his eyes drawn to Joe behind it, a big grin on his face.
Andy found himself smiling too. All the anger he’d been harbouring about the whole situation had just… disappeared upon seeing Joe grinning like that, it was downright healing. He huffed out a laugh, turning his head away.
“What do you wanna talk about, Joe?”
“Oh, yeah, right!” He shuffled forward, drawing Andy’s complete and undivided attention back to him- so easily at that, “So I’ve been talking with Scott Ian a lot, right, and we’ve been brainstorming a little project.”
“...A project?”
“A band.”
Andy felt his vision blur slightly, watching as the room almost seemed to tilt in completely the wrong direction. Another band, another project- something else to move on to. It was like there hadn’t been any stage of mourning for Joe, it was just onto the next, better thing, like Fall Out Boy never fucking mattered in the first place. He’d been the one that had wanted the band to succeed the most, had pushed the most for Andy to join, and now what? It wasn’t important?
“Oh.”
“Yeah! We’re still not sure on the line-up, but we’ve been talking to a couple of guys from Every Time I Die and it’s really looking hopeful. We were talking about drummers, too, and I- like- I kinda forgot there were any other options, ‘cause I don’t really think I’d be able to play in a band without you in it.”
“Is this your way of asking me to join the band?”
“Maaaaybe…”
Andy finally managed to break eye contact, looking at the mug on the coffee table. It was one that had been Pete’s once, but he’d left it at Andy’s after crashing there for a gig, and Andy had kept it ever since. The teabag’s string had slipped into the mug, and he reached over to pull it out, barely flinching as he dipped his fingers into the boiling water. Joe leant forward, presumably to try and stop him, but he pulled out the string and hung it back over the rim of the mug, wrapping it a couple of times around the top of the handle so it didn’t fall back in.
Another band would fill his schedule.
“Yeah. Sure.” He responded.
Maybe it would fill the empty hole. Make him feel like more of a human.
He was very much aware that Joe was watching him with concern, but he didn’t want to make eye contact and see it for himself- he didn’t think he’d be able to keep everything to himself if he did, and the last thing he wanted to do was to make Joe feel guilty about ending things.
Joe stuttered through the beginning of a few sentences before pausing and collecting his thoughts,
“Do you want me to stick about? Help you?” He seemed to notice Andy’s reluctance and cleared his throat, “-to build the shelf, that is.”
Internally, Andy was begging for him to stay. He needed help, he needed to tell someone how he was slowly falling apart piece by piece.
Instead, he shook his head,
“Nah, I’m fine doing it myself. I do have some stuff I need to get done, so…”
He didn’t know why he lied, but he did know that seeing Joe’s hurt reaction killed him even further. Joe looked down, shrinking into himself slightly, before letting out a long sigh and trying to collect himself into someone that looked less devastated. It didn’t work very well, but he still persisted, standing up and shrugging like it didn’t matter.
“Yeah, that’s cool. If you ever need me, I’ll be here, but I’ll head off, then.”
There was a coldness to his voice, and Andy knew it was entirely his fault for pushing away Joe; but he still had a horrible knee-jerk reaction to blame Joe for it. The hate in his stomach surged, and he tried to ignore it and finally tell Joe that he needed him to stay; but as always, he didn’t speak the words that he wanted to.
“Have a good one.”
Joe left, and Andy wondered if he’d ever stop acting like a fucking fool.
4.
As an institutional creation, Andy really didn’t like Christmas. It was just an excuse for big corporations to draw in far more profits than any one person needed- the advertisements were intolerable, and the amount of money you were expected to spend was enough to make even him swear, despite the money he’d made from the band.
That year, though, he had three less presents to get.
On a personal level, though, ignoring the corporate culture that came from the season; he’d found the holiday comforting. It was always a release amongst the relentless cold and depressing short days- in the days around Christmas, everything was festive and easy. There was an undeniable comfort that came from the smell of mulled wine and cinnamon.
He was struggling to feel festive that year, though; there was little comfort he could provide to himself amongst the depression that had followed the loss of the band. The only reason he’d been able to muster up the effort to put up his tree was because the weird looks he was getting from his neighbours for his lack of festivity were starting to make him feel like shit.
It had been at 3:00am on Christmas Eve when Joe texted, and Andy had been awake. He didn’t sleep much as of late, tended to stay up until the thoughts spiralled so bad that climbing into bed and shutting it all off was the only real way to keep himself from breaking. He had squinted at the light from his phone, trying to blink away the blurriness in his eyes.
Need ur help BADLY
I hav a vegan round for christmas dinner and I hvae no idea wht 2 cook
help
pls
His fingers had hovered over the ‘n’ and ‘o’ for far too long before he had relented. It would be too easy to push Joe away, he’d already been doing it for far too long; but it was easier to drag himself into social situations when he was doing it for someone else. It would be less likely, if they were focusing on cooking, that he’d be asked how he was doing.
So he had responded with an ‘ok when’ and waited for Joe to organise everything whilst he tried to quell the strangely painful anxiety that seemed to be settling in his gut somewhere.
Fourteen hours later, as the sun was setting, he had made the journey from his place to Joe’s in silence. Not even blasting music made him feel anything at that point in time, and the last time he had, he’d been pulled over by the cops. He’d been swerving so much that they’d thought him drunk, and after a frustratingly long sobriety test, they told him to turn the music down as it was clearly distracting him. If that wasn’t just a metaphor for his whole life, he didn’t know what was.
“I dunno, man! I’ve never done you guyses Christian dinner shit, let alone vegan stuff!” Joe was much more of a distraction whilst driving, though, with the way he was waving his arms around as he spoke.
“Don’t lump me in with Christianity, dude.”
“Look, you’ve taken pity on a poor little Jewish boy, and I appreciate that a lot. But you gotta admit it’s hard to think of what to cook when there are no rules as to what you guys eat at Christmas!” He paused, “Like- if you ate meat- would it be chicken or turkey?”
“I wouldn’t eat meat.” Andy replied, matter-of-factly, keeping his eyes on the road and keeping one hand on his stomach, trying to push away the feeling. It had lingered even after meeting up with Joe, and he was starting to wonder he was on the verge of a panic attack or something.
“I know that, dude, I’m talking hypothetically.”
“The last time I ate chicken I was a kid, I can’t remember what it tastes like to even play your hypothetical.”
“Party-pooper.”
They spend far too long in the supermarkets getting the ingredients, but slowly as the day moved on, Andy felt himself relax ever so slightly. His tensed jaw eased into a smile, and by the time they’d reached the tills, he had been threatening to leave Joe stranded in between laughs. He hadn’t felt that light in months.
There was a little part of him nagging, though. Joe was having someone else over for Christmas. He could have friends- Andy didn’t want to police that, he wasn’t controlling like that at all- but… there was a pang of jealousy. Despite the way he’d actively avoided socialising in the past months, he couldn’t help but to wish that he was the one Joe had invited to dinner.
“My husband here is paying!” Joe had loudly declared at the check-out, before Andy had slapped him around the back of the head and he’d taken it all back with a ‘nah, I wouldn’t marry you. I don’t have enough space in my house for all the gym equipment you’d come with’.
When they got back into the car, Andy unloaded his pockets, dumping everything in the footwell by Joe’s feet- a pack of batteries, some vegan chocolate, a box of cigarettes, and a few sticks of gum that he kept for himself. He could tell Joe was staring at him, bewildered, but he didn’t want to start that conversation.
Luckily (or more like unluckily), Joe was more than happy to pick him up on it,
“Uh… did you pay for them?”
“Nah.”
“...Why are you stealing, dude- how-” He paused, “How the fuck did I not notice?”
Andy shrugged. He hadn’t made a big deal out of it, just slipped what he wanted into his pockets,
“I dunno. Big companies don’t need any more cash.”
“Are you broke?”
“Nope. Just bored.”
“Dude, you’ve been doing this for a while, haven’t you?”
Andy shrugged again. Truth be told, the habit had started a day after he built the Ikea shelf. He’d chipped some of the paint off and went to a hardware store to try and fix it. He hadn’t intended to steal, but he’d been in such a sleep-deprived daze that he’d just walked out with the paint pot, and by some stroke of luck, no one had seen him.
The realisation had made him feel more than he had since the band was still a thing. It was probably the threat of getting arrested that gave him the adrenaline kick, but as it stood, he wondered if going to prison would be a welcome change from his mind-numbingly depressing schedule.
“Andy?”
“Uh… I mean, kinda? I don’t go out with the specific intention to steal shit, I just… put something in my pocket every now and again.”
Joe was staring, bug-eyed,
“Are you holding up alright? ‘Cause I’m gonna be so real, this seems like some straight-up self destructive behaviour.”
“I mean, they’d have to catch me for it to be self-destructive.” He smirked.
Joe had looked a little uncomfortable at Andy’s obvious attempt to change the subject, but he relented anyway, and they spent the rest of the drive singing along to the mixtape that Andy hadn’t taken out of his CD player for about a year at that point.
The awkwardness slipped away, though, as they got back to Joe’s place and set up shop in the kitchen. He had never been the best cook but when he’d gone vegan as a teen, he had slowly spent the next few years building up a cookbook for himself. It was all hand-written by himself and by friends over the years, half bound together with duct tape and half with staples; and it was one of his most prized possessions. He didn’t look at it much anymore, he had most of the recipes memorised, and didn’t want to risk it getting stained.
“What are we making, then?” Joe clapped his hands together, a grin on his face.
“Wellington. We’ll-”
“Hang on, wait- isn’t Wellington beef? I told you, dude, this guy’s a vegan, he can’t-”
“Joe. I know.” He responded, quiet, “It’s not got any meat in it, I promise. It’s mushrooms, pecans, cranberries, and sweet potatoes instead of the meat; still tastes just as good, I swear. Your friend will love it.”
“...Yeah.”
So that was that, Joe was stationed at the stove frying potatoes and leeks and onions and whatever Andy cut up and dumped into the pan. The kitchen slowly filled up with the smell of food, and Andy felt a little bit like a kid again- he hadn’t cooked at all since the band fell apart, and he had forgotten how warming it was to busy yourself with making food.
By the time they were wrapping the filling in pastry, Andy’s cheeks hurt from laughing, and he didn’t feel like he wanted to leave. He wasn’t going to impose on Joe’s holiday plans, of course, but he couldn’t help but to be curious. With the Wellington in the oven, the pair of them ended up in Joe’s living room, hot chocolates in hand, and he resolved to ask.
“So you’ve got plans for tomorrow.”
“Yeah. It was a spontaneous thing, but I’m excited.”
“Cool. Cool.” He paused, pulling at a hangnail, “Who’s this friend you’re inviting over?”
Joe put his mug down,
“Andy?”
“Sorry, was that a sensitive question or something?”
“No. Andy, it’s you. ”
“...Uh- what?”
Joe let out a laugh, leaning back into the sofa,
“Dude, I thought you had caught on- I wanted to spend time with you, and I remember there was that one time, way back when Pete, Patrick, and I were still living together.” His cackles calmed to a content smile, “You heard that I lived off instant noodles and pizza and you forced your way into the apartment. Didn’t leave until you knew I could cook for myself.”
Andy had forgotten about that.
He’d gotten tired of Joe complaining about how ill he always felt. It had come to a boiling point at a hometown show- their biggest one yet- and Joe hadn’t stopped groaning about how sick he felt for the whole show. Andy had asked Patrick about it, and found out that Joe just hadn’t eaten any fucking vegetables for over a week.
He had said it was a spite thing, had spent most of his time at their apartment making fun of Joe for eating like a 5-year-old, but in truth, Andy had just wanted an excuse to hang out with all of them. Three weeks, he’d ended up being there, cooking with Joe every night.
He had forgotten it, it had been so long ago; but Joe hadn’t- he’d relied on that memory.
“Oh, shit, yeah…” Andy smiled, “Fuck dude, yeah.”
“Are you okay?”
He was tearing up, and he didn’t quite know why,
“I’m okay. I’ve just- that was a good time.”
As he thought of it more and more, though, it clicked. All the memories that he’d been looking back on as of late had been fucking miserable. The fights, the hate, the horrible way it ended. Joe, though, was focusing on the good things- the times where they actually acted like friends. Once again, Andy was reminded that it felt like he had come out of the situation the worst.
He started to feel the dread encroaching in on his gut again, curling into himself a little bit,
“Sorry. Slipped my mind.”
Joe shuffled a little bit closer- enough to be subtle if Andy hadn’t been paying attention. But he was. He was paying attention to only Joe, there was nothing else in the world that he really wanted to pay attention to at that point.
“Look, I’m not saying this for any reason in particular, but if you ever wanted to do that again- stay over, I mean. I’m not expecting you to cook everything for me all the time- but I wouldn’t say no- Anyway, if you wanted to stay over, I’d be happy for that.”
Andy thought about the way he’d been living, at the mess in his house and the amount of time he spent in bed throughout the day. He considered exactly how miserable it would be to live with someone like him; what it would feel like to stuff a huge dark cloud into your house; and he knew it was something he didn’t want to subject Joe to.
“Thanks dude, but…” He resolved not to make eye contact as he spoke- knew he’d break if he saw how disappointed Joe looked, “I’ll pass. I don’t wanna mess up your whole thing.”
“You won’t mess it up, I swear- if you need to stay you can stay.”
He shook his head, scrunching up his face as he tried to blink away tears. Once again, his stomach had turned somewhere in the conversation, and he brought his knees up to his chest to try and find a position that hurt slightly less,
“Can we just… Can we change the subject?”
Joe sighed but eventually relented, awkwardly trying to shift the conversation somewhere that was less awkward. Andy knew he’d fucked up- again - and he wondered when he’d get the courage to accept Joe’s help, if ever.
The night went on, though, and as it had each and every time before, they eased back into comfortable conversation. Andy had always liked that about Joe- when it came to the pair of them, they never held grudges for too long. They got in arguments infrequently, of course, like everyone did, but by the end of the day they’d be over it, unlike when Joe butted heads with the other two and would spend weeks considering how to get them back.
When he eventually left, long past midnight, he swore Joe hugged him so tight- like he was afraid Andy would disappear after he walked away.
Andy wasn’t even sure if that was entirely wrong. He felt a little bit like he was slipping away.
5.
His appendix ruptured a few days after that.
It was a bit of relief to figure out that he hadn’t been in excruciating pain because of anxiety, because then it’d be a proper thing and he’d have to look into therapy or medication. If it wasn’t a thing then it wasn’t that bad and he could really pretend he was fine with a higher success rate. So yeah, he was glad he wasn’t so mentally ill that he was physically sick; but he was also subconsciously aware that it would only serve as a further way for him to repress his emotions.
Silver linings.
Anyway, he’d been trying to put something on that fucking IKEA shelf when it happened- reaching up with a potted plant in his hand. He’d felt something twinge, and then had been hit with the pain far worse than anything he’d felt before. That had been followed with the unfortunate side effect of him falling off the step stool, grabbing at the shelf to try and steady himself, and then proceeding to fall onto his back and bring down half of the books on top of him.
His phone was on charge in the kitchen, and he found out that moving was just a little bit too painful to justify.
That, unfortunately, meant that when someone finally came and found him, he’d been lying there for almost four hours. It was the fucking police that got to him, too, ringing his doorbell and asking if there was any trouble- the neighbours had heard the bang and assumed a home invasion. His response of a meek ‘hey I kinda need medical attention’ and ‘yeah, no, I can’t move’ led to his door being knocked down.
He was eventually loaded into the back of the cop car, considering he clearly wasn’t able to wait for an ambulance. They drove him to the hospital, were even nice enough to ignore when they moved him a little too roughly and he shouted out ‘FUCKING PIGS’ on reaction.
The nurses took one look at him and got him straight into a bed, and an hour later he was going into surgery.
It turned out that he had been so close to going septic that they put him on a course of antibiotics and kept him on observation for a week- just in case. It was a tad embarrassing, too, the whole thing; with only his phone to keep him entertained. One of the cops had been nice enough to pick it up when they’d taken him to hospital.
Joe had been texting him, asking if he wanted to hang out; and he was running out of excuses. He knew that the moment he confessed that he was in hospital, Joe would turn up and refuse to leave, and he was still trying to avoid being a burden on his friend.
Had the downside of being a bit lonely, though.
“So who’s picking you up?” One of the nurses was watching him fill out the discharge forms after he’d been deemed healthy enough to leave. That didn’t mean he felt anything close to healthy, though.
“Uh.. I have someone coming along, yeah… they’re… they’re meeting me in the parking lot.”
The nurse gave him a look somewhere between pissed and sympathetic,
“Do you have the money for a cab, Mr. Hurley?”
“...That obvious, huh?”
“You’ve had no one visit or call since you arrived. You’re not supposed to be up and about, so just… please get someone to pick you up or get a cab. It’s for your safety.”
His mind went to Joe, to the countless times he’d offered to help out. Even with the hospital bedrest, Andy was in so much pain that even standing at the reception counter, filling out the forms, he felt close to passing out. He really didn’t think it would be good for him to stand outside for however long it took for a taxi to arrive.
“Can I just… call a friend whilst you finish the forms? I’ve signed where I need to.”
He didn’t even wait for her to respond before he stumbled his way over to the nearest seating area. He was ringing Joe before he’d even sat down, before he’d even realised he was doing it, and Joe had picked up before the call had even rung the second time.
“Andy, hey! Are you okay? You haven’t been responding to my texts which is- like- fine, obviously, you’ve got your own life haha but I’m glad you decided to call and it’s good to talk to you haha!” He paused, “...Sorry. Rambling. What’s up?”
“Uh… hey.”
“Hey.” He waited. Patiently.
Andy really didn’t think he deserved a friend like Joe- someone that just kept trying no matter how many times Andy shoved him away like he was poison. Andy felt his whole body tense up, a horrible feeling in his stomach. He wasn’t a good person, he didn’t feel like a good person, and he wasn’t fucking acting like a good person. He didn’t want his friends to have to put up with him.
“Hey.” Was all he could say.
“Uh… how’s your day going?”
Then there was Joe, Joe who was being so damn patient and so damn persistent, just pushing and pushing in some attempt that Andy would break and finally open up. He kept wasting energy, and Andy felt his guilt just grow.
“It’s okay. I’m kinda tired and I’m in a bit of pain.”
“Oh shit, why? You okay? What happened?”
“...Nothing bad, it’s all fixed now, I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?”
No.
“Yeah.” He kicked himself- all he needed to do was just ask, just ask and he knew Joe would be there, “How are you?”
There was a quiet ‘hm’ before he continued,
“I’m okay. Just sitting playing video games. Got absolutely nothing on right now. Just… sitting here.”
Andy wasn’t stupid. He knew it was a hint. He knew he wanted to take the hint.
“That sounds pretty nice, actually. What game are you playing?”
But he didn’t.
“Majora’s Mask. You wanted to call to catch up?”
“I guess.”
“Andy, be straight with me. I love talking to you, I really do, but I know you’re not telling me something and it’s tearing me apart. You know I’m here for you, but I can only be here for you if you let me in.”
Andy hunched over on the seat, clutching his stomach. Something with the stress started to make his surgery wound smart, and he was really wishing he had just gone with a cab so neither of them had to go through this again.
“So you keep saying.”
“Yeah, I keep fucking saying it, because it’s true.”
“...Sorry.”
“I want my friend to be okay.”
That made him feel sick.
“Thanks. I need to go, though, I really do; I’m sorry for wasting your time, I shouldn’t have- I really don’t think- have a good day, man.”
“Andy, no, don’t-”
He hung up.
His stomach hurt just as much as his head did.
Cab it was.
+1
Andy was dying.
He was sure of it, he really was, because there was no way his stomach was supposed to be hurting that bad. He was curled up on the sofa, in amongst the smashed porcelain and broken shelves still sprawled across his floor. It wasn’t like he had the energy to sort it all out considering he was supposed to be on bed rest, and moving hurt. As he’d come in, he’d stepped on a broken vase and needed to spend the next twenty minutes bandaging up his feet- by the end of it, he was in a lot more pain from hunching over for so long.
He let out a groan, desperately trying to force himself to move. The hospital had given him some pain meds, and he knew he’d be okay if he could just… get up. Still, though, he stayed there; writhing in pain whilst just wishing he’d finally pass out and sleep.
He had no such luck, though.
And it eventually got so bad that he was convinced he was dying. Something must’ve gone wrong in the surgery and he was left to suffer the consequences, and- fuck- if he had just asked for help he would be fine, if he had just asked for help if he had just asked for- if he had just-
The last time he’d been recovering, it was after his top surgery. Pete, Patrick, and Joe had taken turns cycling through taking care of him- despite everything going on with Folie, the only thing all three of them agreed on was that they had to take care of him. They’d bring soup, remind him to take his meds, change his drains and bandages, and keep him company.
But now he was alone.
When someone knocked on the door, he almost started crying. If he couldn’t walk to the kitchen to get the meds, he wouldn’t be able to reach the front door. He closed his eyes, trying to hold back the tears- he really didn’t want to start crying, he knew it would make everything hurt a lot more. The person would go away after a while and he could go back to festering in his loneliness.
Fuck .
He wasn’t dying, he was already dead.
He was like the band- he always had been- he’d been dying slowly since the others started to lose interest, and that day they called it quits was the day he lost everything that was him . He was nothing besides the drummer for Fall Out Boy, and besides that? There was nothing he had to give to the world, and nothing the world had to give to him.
There was a second knock at the door. The reminders of his loneliness were persistent.
When he didn’t respond, he heard the sound of a key turning in the lock. Great. He was about to get robbed when he could barely move. It was that moment that really struck him as his lowest point.
Still, he barely managed to push himself up just enough so he could angle his gaze to look down the hall at the front door. At least, if the home intruder had a gun or something, he could look his death in the eye and try to pull at their empathy.
The door opened.
Joe caught his gaze immediately, sporting an expression halfway between guilty for being caught and concerned at whatever state Andy was in. He lingered for a few moments, slowly lifting up a hand and waving. He had this smile on his face that made Andy want to burst into tears.
“You gotta be haunting me, man.” He managed to mutter between wincing at the way his half-sitting position was pulling at the stitches on his stomach.
Joe eased only slightly at the joke, shoulders still risen in tension,
“Yeah, I’m like a real vengeful spirit.” He stepped in and closed the door behind him, adjusting the strap of a backpack he had slung over one of his shoulders.
“How’d you get in?”
“You gave me a spare key when you went on holiday like… two years ago. Y’know, to water the plants?” Finding his way further into the living room, he settled to stand awkwardly at the doorway, eyes finally meeting with the destroyed shelf, “How are your… monsteras… uh…”
Andy looked over to the mess and tried not to break down at the sheer disaster he’d become,
“It fell.”
“I can fucking see that, dude.” He huffed out a humourless laugh, “When did that happen?”
“I… uh- I don’t know. What- what day is it right now?”
The concern took over completely at that point, and Joe could barely pretend not to be worried. He rested his bag on the floor and came to sit on the sofa, asking for permission only through a slight head nod that Andy replicated.
“What’s going on?”
He looked down at his hands,
“My appendix burst. I had to get surgery.”
“I’m not taking no for an-” Joe paused, “Sorry, what? ”
“I called you to ask for a lift home from the hospital.”
“You never even mentioned you were at the hospital.”
“I know.”
He stared for a moment, chancing moving if just to free his foot from the pins and needles it had succumbed to. It was, of course, the wrong decision; and the moment he shifted, his vision blacked out for a moment from the pain.
When he came to, he realised he must’ve screamed or yelped or something, because Joe had moved and was crouching by the side of the sofa, his hands hovering between the pair of them like he desperately wanted to help but could see how fragile Andy was. Eventually he settled on trying it regardless, slowly easing Andy’s legs out so that he was lying mostly horizontal on the sofa, head propped up with a pillow behind his neck.
The pain didn’t subside enough to do anything besides force out a plea for the meds in the kitchen.
Before he’d even realised exactly what he’d asked for, Joe was back with the bag from the hospital- he’d moved faster than Andy’s brain could. What followed was a painful five moments of him struggling to take the pills, enough so that he threw the same one up twice before they gave it a break for a few seconds.
With the pills taken, Joe sat himself on the side of the coffee table that wasn’t covered in debris from the shelf,
“Why didn’t you ask? You know I would’ve been there.”
“I know, that’s the problem. I didn’t want to be an inconvenience, I didn’t want you to uproot your day to come and pick me up, I didn’t want you to feel obligated to take care of me like I was a fucking baby.”
“If I didn’t want to help you I wouldn’t offer. You think I’ve afforded this luxury to Pete when he’s pissed me off?”
There it was again, a mention of the band.
He winced, laying an arm over his stomach and trying to pull his legs back up to his chest before Joe caught him, put a hand on his knees, and straightened them out again. The doctors had told him that stress didn’t cause appendicitis, but he was finding out from experience that it was causing him just about every other symptom in the book.
Joe noticed the shift in his demeanour, and his voice softened,
“Andy, please talk to me. I’ve decided I’m staying regardless of what you want, because I don’t exactly want you to be alone right now, so you might as well tell me what’s been going on.”
“I don’t-”
“You’re not a burden. I’m not fucking obligated to take care of you. I’m doing this because I want to.” He paused, “I miss my friend.”
Andy couldn’t help the aggression in his voice as he finally stopped biting his tongue,
“Well I miss the band.”
“...You know I do too.”
“No, no you don’t. You don’t miss it like I miss it because every time you bring it up, you talk about it like it was awful, like it was horrible, like you would go back in time and never do it if you could. It’s- it’s so fucking easy for you! It’s all about starting a new band with you, doing something different, trying to bury Fall Out Boy whilst we still can.” His voice broke and his throat hurt, but he couldn’t stop, “I’m not like you, I can’t just pretend like it never meant anything to me. Since everything ended, I’ve been absolutely fucking nothing. I have an empty calendar, every day, and the only times I feel anything anymore is when it hurts so bad I think about running away and never coming back and when I fucking shoplift. I don’t-”
His breath hitched in his throat, and he hung his head in what felt a hell of a lot like shame,
“I don’t know how it’s so easy for you.”
Joe didn’t speak for a few minutes at the very least, just stared.
When he eventually found his words, he was still speaking in that soft, calm tone.
“I’m not gonna lie and say I have it harder than you because I don’t. I am glad it’s over, for now at least. But it’s not easy. ”
“Then why aren't you grieving? Why don’t you care?”
Joe had this look on his face that he rarely got- the one that made him look far older and far wiser than he actually was,
“Because I mentally clocked out a long time ago. It’s not something I’m proud of, but I’ve already had my time to grieve. I’ve spent so many nights where I can’t sleep, where I just sit there and cry because it’s all gone, because this beautiful thing I had grown to love had changed so much I didn’t recognise it.” He paused, eyebrows furrowed, “I’ve been grieving for about three years.”
“Do you even miss it any more?”
Joe shrugged,
“Sure. I miss it like a songbird misses a cage. I’m sure someday I’ll long for it like you do again, but right now? Right now it feels like I’m finally detoxing after being high for years . It’s better this way.”
Andy looked around his house, at the dust on the table and the filth on the carpet that he hadn’t been able to clean for months. His gaze caught on the shelf and all its mess, and the undeniable smell of filthy water coming from the kitchen where he’d resorted to endlessly soaking dishes instead of washing them.
“I’m not doing better. I’m falling apart without the band, Joe, I’m losing my fucking mind without the band, Joe, I’m starting to think there is nothing important to me or my life without the band, Joe. ” He hissed, and he knew he was acting an asshole, but he’d been bottling up his feelings for so long that he couldn’t control how they were coming out, in any way.
“No, you’re falling apart because you’re not getting help. Sure, the hiatus might’ve triggered this, but it wouldn’t be this bad if you weren’t doing it alone.” Joe seemed to wince at how harsh he was coming across, clearing his throat for a moment to gain composure, “Sorry, I’m not- It’s not that I’m trying to say your feelings aren’t valid, because fucking hell they are. We tried so damn hard, so consistently, to get all of this shit to work out and now it’s not. This has been our life for years , and now it’s just… not. That’s gonna hurt.”
“Hurt is an understatement.”
“I know. You’re not giving yourself the space to feel it, though, it’s like you’re just wallowing in the anger and the pain and you’re not actually considering anything beyond how bad it feels.”
“...Why are you here, Joe?”
“Because I know you haven’t been okay for a while and I’ve been waiting for you to tell me.”
Andy couldn’t hold it in any more. His eyes had been welling up since the start of the conversation but at that moment he lost control. He barely got his hand over his mouth before a gasped sob escaped his throat, and as soon as that happened tears streamed down his face. Everything came out at once, and it was the worst feeling he’d ever had.
Joe moved closer, taking his hand; and as Andy curled into him, leaning on his shoulder, he responded to every ‘I hate it, I hate being without it’ and ‘I’m dying, Joe ’ with ‘I know, I know’ and ‘it’s okay, it’ll be okay’ . His thumb rubbed smooth circles into Andy’s palm.
And Andy kept crying.
For almost an hour he wailed, rocking slowly back and forth and clinging onto Joe like he was afraid he’d lose him.
He missed the band.
He missed his life.
He missed it all so badly, and he was so, so scared that he wouldn’t ever get it back.
When he finally cried all of the tears he had, completely exhausted, Joe slowly extricated himself away from the shivering mess and left for the kitchen- coming back in a few minutes with a cup of tea and a bowl of soup. Joe sat himself back on the table.
“I’m sorry. You were the only one that was trying to keep the peace towards the end. It’s not fair.”
“Then fix it .”
“I can’t. That’s not how this is meant to go, and I think you know it. But what I can- and I will do- is remind you that you’re so much more than that damn band.”
“What? What am I?”
“You’re my friend.” Joe muttered, almost with a hint of admiration, “You have the strongest morals of everyone I’ve ever met; your dedication to working out is more impressive than most of what I’ve seen from anyone else; you’re so emotionally intelligent it’s unreal; you have sick ass tattoos; and when you’re gone, I miss you.”
“...I miss you too. Joe, could you-” He paused, his head swimming, “Can you stay, please? I don’t like being alone.”
“Already told you I’d stay, buddy. I won’t leave your side, and I never will. I will help you because I know you would do the same. And it will get better. It’ll take time, but… we’ll get there.”
“Do you think we’ll ever start it up again?”
Joe shrugged,
“Maybe. But it’s better to focus on realities instead of ‘maybe’s.”
For the first time in a long while, Andy didn’t feel so scared thinking about the future.
“Can we watch Star Wars?”
“Only if you eat that soup. You look like shit.”
“Jeez, thanks dude.”
“Can’t be too sappy for too long, I’m allergic to it.”
He rolled his eyes, settling into the comfortable presence of another person.
Everything still hurt, but he didn’t feel so alone.