1986

Dave was asleep in your bed, having arrived around 3 a.m., clearly running from his bandmates who had been driving him crazy. You sat next to him, watching the rise and fall of his chest, and gently shook his shoulder, trying to wake him up.

He groaned softly, pulling the blanket tighter around himself as if trying to escape both the disturbance and the sunlight that streamed through the window. His face remained hidden, and you could see how exhausted he was. The chaos from the night before seemed to still cling to him, like a weight he couldn’t shake off.

“Dave,” you murmured, “you’ve got to wake up.”

But he only pulled the blanket tighter, curling into himself, trying to block out everything.