***T/W: Brief mention of suicidal thoughts***

When the morning finally rolled around, Steven awoke with a splitting headache. It was nothing new to him since he often experienced them because of ongoing years of severe drug use, but today was different. Today his headache was even worse than usual. Why? He had no clue.

Yeah, he'd done some crack late in the evening and had taken a couple of Ambitropin tablets in the middle of the night because he couldn't get his mind off Joe and how fucked up his day had been, but - oh. Steven sighed heavily at the realisation. That explained a lot.

And if that wasn't enough, he had purposefully 'forgotten' to eat dinner, only downing ridiculous amounts of coffee the entire evening to drown his misery and rid his hunger. Though it obviously hadn't made a difference because he was still just as starving as before. Or maybe that hunger was nausea. Well, either way, it had almost been twenty hours since he'd last eaten and he felt awful.

Steven groaned loudly into his hot pillow with frustration and agony, his knees digging into his chest as he curled up into a tight ball, trying to suppress the urge to cry out. It hurt so much.

The sheets rustled and the mattress sank slightly as he stretched out and rolled onto his side, bringing the thick blankets with his hot, tense body.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Steven muttered more curses under his breath as his hands curled into tight fists. If he wasn't in so much pain then he would've banged his head against the wall for being such a mindless idiot, but I guess it served him right for yesterday.

Uugghh. He raised his hands to his head and gripped his hair tightly as the pain became excruciating, his slim, bony fingers tangling in his thick mane of dark, messy hair.

God, maybe he should have taken more sleeping pills, then he would've been put out of his misery in his sleep and wouldn't have had to experience this hell.

Steven screwed his coffee-brown eyes up tightly and curled his toes as a stabbing pain suddenly shot through his skull. He felt like he was slowly having a metal spike run through it.

In all twenty-seven years of his life, he had never felt so dreadful. Well, there was that one time when Joe punched him in the mouth, which hurt like a bitch, and left him with swollen lips and a bloody face and clothes.

Steven felt his mouth, which he remembered had instantly filled with warm blood and had stained his clothes as he immediately spat it out onto the floor before he choked. There was still a dark patch on the green carpet in the booth in the recording studio from that incident.

Correction: there were still two dark patches on the carpet from that incident, because, being the generous person he was, Steven had done Joe the honours by kindly returning the favour. Almost three years later and he still had no regrets.

He grinned at the memory. But he stopped smiling when he realised that no matter how disgusting he felt, he had to get up. It made no difference that it was a Saturday, he was naturally inclined to.

After a couple of minutes of being curled up in the fetal position, his eyes shut tightly, and his nails digging sharply into his scalp, Steven finally worked up the courage to get up. It took a few moments, for his head was spinning like a merry-go-round, but he eventually managed to coax his jaded body out from under the cosy duvet he so desperately wanted to stay nestled under.

Slipping his legs out from under the blanket, he slowly swivelled himself around to the edge of the bed and got to his feet. As his feet touched the soft, scarlet carpet, he yawned loudly, his back and right arm producing a loud crack as he stretched. Licking his dry lips wet with his tongue, he looked over at his alarm clock to check out the time, but he never got the chance, for he suddenly caught his reflection in the grimy mirror.

Steven let out a horrified scream and stumbled backwards into the wall, gripping onto it for dear life with his nails. He was unable to believe what he was seeing. He was naked! Oh, mother of God! Oh, shit! Oh, lord!

He put his hand to his head. He was going to faint from shock. It was the first time he had ever seen himself without clothes. His heart pounded and his breathing became faster and shallow as he tried to process what the hell he'd seen.

Taking a deep breath, Steven bravely stepped back in front of his wardrobe mirror and took another look at himself. He was so skinny. His small torso dented and dipped in and out at weird places, and he could see the faint outlines of his ribcage. The lines sloped down his stomach, passing the little slit that was his belly button, stopping when they curved softly outwards and down, forming his hips. He tilted his head and stared curiously at himself, a shiver creeping up his spine as he slowly ran his fingers over the visible bumps of his ribs.

It felt strangely nice, feeling the hard bumps and dents of his body. It was like running his hand over a xylophone.

His eyes darted downwards, scanning his package that was tucked into his underwear, skinny legs and small feet. He was a tiny US size ten, which he shuffled and wiggled in the soft carpet, admiring his toes that he had painted, the shade perfectly matching the colour of the flooring.

Pulling his strong gaze away, he grabbed his dressing gown off the door hook and made a hasty retreat to the bathroom, suppressing the urge to look over his broad shoulder and see his back profile.

~

Pulling a baggy black t-shirt over his head and messing up his hair, Steven swung his leg swiftly over the winding bannister and slid down it, letting out a loud "Woo!" of excitement, momentarily forgetting about his headache, but he groaned when the world suddenly spun and his vision blurred for a moment, causing him to release his grip on the bannister and fall onto the oak foyer floor with a massive thump.

He lay on his back for a couple of moments, silence washing over him. It was broken when footsteps approached him and a soft voice spoke from above him.

"Christ, Steven! Come on, get up," the voice of Joey Kramer exclaimed.
Bending his knees slightly, Joey extended his soft-looking hands for Steven to take, which he was thankful for.

Steven was surprised by how warm Joey's hands were as he was pulled off the floor.

"Come on," Joey muttered, struggling to pull the lead singer to his feet. "Woah! It's okay, it's okay, I've got you," he told him reassuringly as Steven shakily got up and stumbled into his toned arms.

"Thanks, Joey." Steven smiled, brushing his hair away. He paused. "You can let go now," he said quietly, realising that Joey's arms were still wrapped around him, preventing him from falling flat on his face and breaking his nose.

"Oh, yeah, sorry. I was just on my way to grab something from my room," Joey apologised, revealing a set of straight teeth as he gave Steven a sheepish smile.

Letting go, he quickly hurried upstairs, a pattering echoing faintly around the ground floor.

Brushing himself down and blinking quickly, Steven slowly made his way to the kitchen, hoping that nothing else unexpected would occur, because fuck him if it did.

But the world didn't seem to be on his side today, because upon opening the door, he was met with the ugly sight of a short crying woman sitting at the counter, her head buried in a distressed Joe's chest.

Her long hair hid her miserable face and her pointy nails clawed roughly at Joe's pristine white button-up shirt as she begged and pleaded with him.

"Ahem," Steven coughed, trying to make himself heard over the woman's sobs and pleas.

The woman's red, puffy eyes lit up slightly as she turned around and saw him standing in the doorway, watching this Oscar-winning performance.

"Oh, you."

"Hello, Elyssa."