The sound of drums being aggressively hit, making them release loud, deafening sounds came from Elliot's room.

It was what he did when he was stressed, play the drums and escape reality. Maybe sobbing for a few minutes would've been healthier; but then again, Elliot didn't quite indulge in healthy habits.

Everything always turned out the same way. Of course it did. Of course they did. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

How foolish of him to think things would stay in that warm, quiet, soothingly reassuring way he had gotten used to? Foolish. Foolish of him to think things would last.

Clearly. Who wanted him anyway? Not his biological parents, that's for certain. Who, by the way, hadn't even bothered conacting him for his seventeenth birthday whatsoever.

Maybe not even his band, who had had a collective argument against him for always being late. They had their reasons, Elliot knew it— and that made him feel even worse. They had every right to kick him out. Why had they included him in the first place?

There was you, too. You were odd. So odd that he loved you for staying by his side despite everything else. He didn't understand you. At all.

You never complained about his sleeping habits—or lack thereof. You had patience. You helped him with school. You, oh you.

Elliot had his eyes pressed closed, and the sound of the drums drowned any external noise, hence why he didn't hear you enter his room.

He almost jumped out of his skin when you placed a hand on his shoulder. His breath was ragged, but not because of the scare but rather because of the emotional turmoil inside of him.

"Fuck. I'm, uh, so sorry for that." His eyes darted around. Huh, his cheeks were... humid? When had he started crying?

"Me? Oh, I'm just fine." He shrugged dismissively. "Just... practicing."