***Tw: OD, self-harm, blood & vomit**
Also, happy birthday🥳❤️😘 -Somebody_to_Love-

Joe's eyes flickered. A light breeze that blew through the room from the gap in the window unapologetically disturbed his senses and awakened him from his deep slumber. He reluctantly opened his eyes, going against the urge to drop off again. No matter how tired he was, he had to go on with the day. Staying alseep on the floor was ludicrous.

Joe blinked rapidly as he forced himself to stay awake, his eyelids continuously drooping as his body fought with him, begging to sleep longer. He caught himself drifting back to dreamland a couple more times before he slowly lifted his exhausted, hungry body from the floor. But his limbs felt so weak, yet heavy, that he collapsed again.

Some frustrated tears trickled down his burning cheek, leaving a wet patch on the carpet. Joe was pretty sure he was running a fever from all the built-up stress he'd had burdening him for the past few weeks, but what could he do? Some food and water was sure to refuel his energy levels and raise his blood sugar, but he couldn't completely get up no matter how hard he forced himself.

"Fuck you, Elyssa," he cried, cursing his now almost ex-girlfriend. "Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you," he continued, smacking his clenched fists into the carpet as he sobbed. This psychotic woman had ruined him in every way, abusing him mentally, physically and emotionally. No matter what he did or said, it was always wrong. And now here he was, alone in a hotel room having a breakdown, knowing that when he went home he'd probably be out on the streets in a heartbeat. Unless the band decided otherwise. Joe dabbed at his bleary eyes as the waterworks continued flowing, a new, forgotten memory deciding to haunt him.

~

Joe sobbed. He sobbed hard. Though he tried his best to muffle the sound of his distress with his bloody arm. He and his girlfriend Elyssa had had an awful fight earlier- not that that was anything new. She'd brought up the topic of his negative school experience at the dinner table, along with a couple of other private matters that she knew of that didn't concern her. They were things he tried so hard to forget and let go, but he couldn't. They stuck inside his mind and plagued him like a sickness that you could never get rid of. A yellow rotary phone that he'd purchased cheap at a charity shop sat beside his bed, the receiver dangling lifelessly over the bedside table, brushing a music magazine that he'd tossed carelessly onto the carpet after reading. And an already bloody pocket knife sat in his lap, staining his clothes.

Joe picked it up and twirled it anxiously over and over in his hands, his whole body shaking. He stared at it, his tears falling onto the blade as he thought of all the things he could do with it. All the things he had done with it.

With quivering, bloody hands, he carefully started cutting at his wrists, matching the cuts on his arms. He bit his lip, trying not to scream. Blood continuing to drip, he wobbled to his mirror, trailing red spots on the floor. He stared at his reflection, apalled at what a fucking mess he looked. A fucking disgusting mess. Joe's lip quivered and his eyes widened as he put the blade to his face. In truth, he was scared. Scared at what he was doing. But he already looked a mess, so one more 'little adjustment' wouldn't make a difference. Right on time, someone came charging into his room, making him jump at the sudden interruption.

"Joe!" Steven's voice cried. "What are you doing?!" The door slammed and footsteps rushed towards him.

"Wh- what does it l- look like? I- I'm g- going to a b- better place," Joe croaked, his long hair in a tangle from being laid in a crumpled ball on his bed. "Somewhere wh- where p- people don't h- hate m- me."

"Joe, please look at me."

His eyes glossy with tears, he looked up, Steven gently cupping his face.

"No one hates you. Your family doesn't hate you. Your friends don't hate you. The band doesn't hate you. I don't hate you."

Joe sniffed, reluctantly letting Steven take the knife from him and confiscate it. He slowly and shakily sat down on the edge of his bed and pulled his knees up to his chest, only holding out his arms to let Steven clean up his wounds. His eyes darted to his knees when his wrists were kissed better.

"St- steven?"

"Yes?"

"Pl- please d- don't l- leave me. Wh- what i- if I h- hurt myself again?" Joe stammered, desperately clinging to Steven's Led Zeppelin t-shirt, starting to cry again. He didn't want to die, but he didn't know how to cope.

The eldest smiled softly down at him. "I won't let that happen," Steven assured him, massaging his shoulders. "I'll stay with you."

"Really?"

"I'll never leave you alone. Let me help you, Joe."

Joe cried happily, a heavy weight of pain and stress lifing off his chest. He raised his arms and let Steven pull his shirt over his head, shivering when the cold air hit his skinny body. Legs open, he let big, nimble hands slide his tight denim jeans off so that he was left in just his boxers. Joe blushed, embarrassed that his best friend had undressed him, let alone seeing him naked.

Steven chuckled at the guitarist's shyness and closed the curtains, nestling him into bed. Joe watched from under his white and blue striped duvet as Steven too stripped down to his underwear and climbed in next to him, laying close so that he wasn't alone and felt safe.

"Goodnight, Perry."

"Goodnight, Tyler," he whispered sleepily.

Turning onto his side, he closed his eyes, the warmth laying next to him comforting and familiar. His breathing evened when the body next to him shuffled closer and pressed against his own, skinny arms snaking around his middle. A little smile sat on his lips and he immediately rolled over, allowing himself to be fully embraced in Steven's arms that he right now needed, wanted to be held in. Joe lay his head on the singer's warm, bony chest and closed his eyes again, butterflies fluttering wildly in his tummy. He nuzzled Steven's neck happily when full, pink lips placed a warm comforting kiss on his face, before finally falling asleep.

~

Fresh tears rolled down Joe's face. That was the outcome of he and Elyssa's worst fight, yet Steven was always there to comfort him and listen to him.

"I'll never leave you alone."

A wave of nausea suddenly hit him as it plagued his mind and his vision hazed again, the world around him becoming a colourful blur of white, brown, gold and chestnut orange.

Joe desperately scrabbled for the bed, salvaging the last bit of energy he could find to pull himself up and hopefully not pass out. He grabbed fistfuls of the orange duvet and managed to haul himself up, a sinking feeling forming in the pit of his stomach.

"Oh shit," he slurred as an ocean of saliva formed in his mouth. He clamped his jaw tightly shut, hoping the vomiting sensation would pass as he wobbled over to his suitcase that he hadn't yet unpacked. He didn't want to risk being that person making such a mess.

Joe's white lips trembled as the nausea kept getting worse. He was certain now that he was going to be sick. His adam's apple throbbed anxiously in his throat as he gulped down the horrid feeling that climbed up his oesophagus. Calloused fingers balled into tight fists as Joe's skin grew clammy, beads of sweat trickling down his back. He tiredly rubbed the cloudiness from his eyes with the base of his palm- not that it did much.

Long overdue, he immediately fell to his knees and threw up. His body shuddered as winter dragged its long, icy finger up his spine, filling him with an unusual dread that somehow made him sicker.

Once he'd finished, he shakily wiped his wet mouth with a tissue he had stuffed in his pocket and dove his veiny hands into the mouth of his luggage. Joe rummaged about for a bit, tossing aside neatly folded clothes, until he found what he was looking for. A watery smile graced his slightly dazed features, clearly pleased as his fingers curled around a heroin needle.

The bathroom door shut softly as the guitarist hid himself inside the convenience, not wanting to alert anyone to what he was doing. It was nobody's business anyway, right? It was his life. His life.

Joe carefully placed the needle down and turned the bath's hot tap on. Hot water immediately gushed out the silver spout (much cleaner compared to at home) and filled the tiny tub, the steam pleasantly hitting his face. He didn't know when, but as he watched the water rise closer to the top, he suddenly found himself shaking. Maybe it was because he was cold, or maybe it was because he knew he had put himself on death's doorstep. He was so near. Death was watching, ready to pounce.

Joe softly wept as he realised that he'd never see his friends or family again, except when they too reached the end of their lives. Don't get him wrong, he didn't want to do what he was about to do, but he had to. What did he have to live for anyway? Nothing. Plus, Steven didn't love him like how he did. They were just friends...

Wiping his tears away, he turned the tap off and slowly stripped down, staring at his dishevelled reflection in the clear water. He had bags under his red eyes, his face was pale and his hair looked greasy and messy even though he'd washed it hours previously. Joe ruffled and scrunched his hair, trying to fluff it up and add some more bounce to it. Alas.

Sighing, he slowly lowered himself into the water, relaxing as the temperature soothed his body. Looking over, he picked up the needle, his breath hitching as he almost dropped it. He had enough heroin that could easily get the whole band high, and he was taking the whole dose.

"I'm sorry," Joe whispered tearfully, wrapping his snakeskin belt painfully tight around his arm, his veins popping. Counting down from three, he carefully pierced his skin and injected the substance into his bloodstream. He tilted his head and stared up at the ceiling, waiting for death to take him. Soon, his hearing faded and his vision disappeared, his eyes rolling back as the world around him turned to black.