Archive of Our Own

“Shit, I don't think he's breathing, I don't -"

"Don't panic, okay, okay, we just need to - recovery position? Or -"

"We need to call – ambulance -"”

“Shit. Shit, we do. Okay. You – you call an ambulance, I'm – fuck. What do we do?"

"Do we make him throw up?"

"I don't think we can -"

They were crowding around him, foggy shapes, indistinct impressions through the mist. Was he not breathing? If he'd stopped, he hadn't noticed, but he'd been feeling pleasantly floaty for some time now. The sting in his arms had died back to a hollow echo, his head was clear, and he was... fearless. The anxieties and pain had dropped away. Everything was just a great, rushing sense of relief, of... finality. Someone must be taking his hand, their heat almost scorching against his dipping temperature. Good... and some part of him, distant, unimportant, felt a wave of crushing sadness, like the echo of someone sobbing in another room. Disheartening, but nothing that could be done about it. After all, this was always inevitable, right?

They always ended up here, in the end.

His eyes were shut, and yet he was still aware of them. Features shifting, voices rising and falling. From baby faced and sharp cheeked to soft and hairy and rosy, from flyaway and lanky to bare and bulky, from slender and wide eyed and sharp trimmed to messy with tummy and a warm softness... they had changed so much. He wasn't sure which ones he was dealing with, this time. This time. The last time…

“I thought he was over this.” and there was desperation, and maybe he felt a twinge of guilt but like every other feeling - it was too far away to ever be important again. What a relief. What a total relief. There were hands touching him, now, pressing on his chest and his neck and his mouth, feeling as his body slid sideways without resistance and someone was crying again, clutching, grateful that he was beyond pain because the way they shook must have hurt..... not that it mattered. "Oh my god, please. Please, just open your eyes. Please! You have to breathe! It wasn't - fuck. It wasn't meant to end like this. Please, Tom -"

He woke with a jolt so violent he accidentally ripped the duvet off of Pip, too. There was a low complaint as they rolled over, reaching through the cold for the fabric. He blinked, staring at the dark room - his heart was thumping right in his throat, raising a hand to press against the base of his collarbone.

"MmTom? Y'okay?" Pip mumbled, squinting, sitting up on an elbow.

“Yeah. Yeah, sorry, I'm- yeah.” he whispered, “Didn't mean to - sorry.” he cleared his throat and pulled the duvet back over, gently patting it onto them. “Just need the bathroom." he wriggled loose, getting to his feet, bracing a hand against the wall as his legs made their unsteadiness known. Doing his best not to appear too rattled, he stepped into the bathroom, flicking the light on. In the mirror, he stared at himself. He was white as a sheet, wide eyed, dark shadows under his eyes.

What the hell was that about? He swallowed hard, running cold water over his trembling hands. The rush of temperature change was grounding. Gaze drifted over the near invisible white scars that marked his flesh from wrist to elbow and a scattering on his shoulders although not right now visible under his short sleeved sleep tee. Had he been thinking so strongly of it recently? And God... he should go back to bed. Curl up next to Pip, try to get some real rest. Yet despite that thought, all that was dominating his mind about the dream was – the relief of it all being over.

What the fuck was wrong with him? LIke a leaden weight in his chest as he ran his soaked hands into his hair, letting the cold water trickle down the back of his neck and ground him. The disorientation of coming out of such a deep sleep, such a - a horrific dream, really, truly, but - it had felt so… so… fuck, he couldn’t think about this now. The Luke in his dream had been right. He was meant to be beyond this. He wasn’t suicidal, hadn’t been suicidal for - for years. Stressed and anxious and a few little relapses, yes, more than he had admitted and more than he would like to think about but he didn’t want to die! He liked his life and his job and he knew he was exquisitely lucky but why, then, why did his brain give him… that?

He rubbed his palm against his chest, a low, shuddering exhale. Arching his back, closing his eyes, shifting his hands down and resting them against the edge of the sink. He could still feel the exhaustion and need for sleep tugging at him; he hadn’t checked his phone, he had no idea what time it was but it didn’t feel like he’d been asleep for very long. Yet the idea of being dragged into that particular thought pattern again… he padded back into the bedroom, blinking in the new darkness after clicking the bathroom light off, giving his eyes a moment to adjust. Pip, curled up and sleeping peacefully, hopefully having already forgotten his rough awakening. He couldn’t recall ever having woken like that before, the almost cartoonish reaction, with the bolting upright, and yet - he could see well enough to lift his phone off the side. A little after four in the morning - he’d only been down about an hour, after his inability to shut off, focused on getting his show spreadsheet as up to date as they could manage it…

Dark eyes lingered longingly on rumpled sheets, warm still, the steady rise and fall of his partner’s chest, familiar scents and comfort but… the malaise of a nightmare still laid over them. He would give it an hour or two, go occupy himself with something to take his mind off things, calm his brain into a different state before trying to actually rest again. He hadn’t even really noticed that he was rubbing a thumb repeatedly over the faint scars on his arm until he looked down from his phone, registering it below. Stilling his hand, he took a breath, darkened the screen and left the room as quietly as he could, hoping Pip wouldn’t be disturbed.

The soft burble of the kettle and the clink of the mug were familiar enough to be calming. The flat was dark, still unknown in many ways, and he sighed slowly, trying to release the tension that had settled over him like a blanket. It was starting to get colder again, Autumn properly setting in; he carried his tea over to the computer, pausing to nab one of the throws off the back of the sofa to settle across his shoulders. No point putting the heating on, after all, especially when Pip was already cosy. Cradling the hot mug in his hands as he waited for the device to boot, he found himself staring out of a crack in the curtains. The street was dark, but residual light from streetlamps, the sky and various still-lit windows cast everything with a ghostly glow. Not a soul seemed to be moving right now, even though he was sure there were pubs currently disgorging drunken regulars only a mile or two away…

The quiet melancholy of London at night… maybe he should go for a walk. It was peaceful enough right now… although that would maybe be dumb. Admittedly he was aware of his level of privilege, being a cis white man who was tall and broad, but he was also still one guy and somewhat useless in a fight and also, well, a knife would still be a knife and getting robbed would be a bad end to a weird night. He nudged the curtain shut again, turning back to the screen. The folder of work itched at his brain. He really should be doing something useful if he was at the computer, not messing around…

Fingertips tapped a rhythm on the desk, debating. He was planning on trying to log a few more hours into Baldur’s Gate 3, as he hadn’t had the chance to play it in a while and he missed it, but… well. Maybe he could do a little bit of work first? But he didn’t… want to. His brain was caught between what he wanted to do and what he was meant to do. Staring, staring at the screen, opening nothing, the cursor hovering between the two places he was meant to go. It was late, he was tired, he’d had a nightmare, maybe he was allowed to play? Forcing his brain to action, he opened the application, and the soft music started to spill from his speakers. But before it had even fully loaded, still flashing Bhaal’s temple as the cog wheel turned, the guilt began to gnaw at his chest. He really should just at least check his emails…

He closed the game without ever loading his character.

-

“What are you doing up?” Pip asked, wandering into the lounge in their dressing gown. Their eyes were still heavy with sleep, leaning over his shoulders to steal an awkward hug. He’d heard the sounds of them starting to get up through his headphones but hadn’t really registered what it meant; his eyes were skating over booking pages and info from their agent and the payslip bases he had amongst a dozen other things. His tea, half empty, sat stone cold on it’s placemat next to the monitor. “Did you get any sleep at all?” they were trying to sound nonchalant, but Tom had been with Pip long enough to pick up on their concern.
“Yeah. Yeah, uh,” he tried to drag his brain back into reality, “Just - it was a bit of a weird night.” they reached around to tuck an errant bit of hair behind his ear, and he could see the concern in their face.

“Alright.” they murmured, kissing his cheek. “Maybe an early night tonight, then?”
“Sounds like a plan.” he said, and they headed off to the kitchen. His eyes went back to the computer screen, and he found himself adding a new tab to the spreadsheet, his mind running away with new things he could plan…

Maybe he should have told them, he mused, about the dream. The nightmare. But he was a grown man, and it sounded ridiculous to him to complain about a weird nightmare, of all things. He pushed away the low fear of the particular flavour of dream that it had been, of the weight of it being - about that - it was nothing, it meant nothing, he was fine. He just - had work to do.

-

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I got distracted and I was just trying to get this last bit finished before I came on the call and the next thing I knew I was ten minutes late -”
“Tom. It’s fine.” Luke cut through his babbling, slightly pixellated features drawing into a frown. “Mate, it’s all good. I was late, too. It happens.”
“Are you okay?” Sam asked, and he was leaning in, peering at his screen, half his face getting cut off because of the angle as his brows furrowed. “Mate, you look knackered.”
“It’s just the lighting.” he said automatically, but even Luke was shaking his head, now.
“No, you sound it, too. What happened?”
“I just - didn’t sleep well.” he said, caught. “Been a weird night.”
“Sleep well, or at all?” Sam asked. He’d lived with Tom, he knew some of his tendencies with overworking himself, and the insomnia…
“I did get some, I just… weird dreams, they uh. I don’t know.” he sighed, leaning back in his chair. He’d expected the guys to pick up on something wrong quickly enough, but he wasn’t expecting it to be quite so fast, although admittedly - well - he had come in somewhat in a whirlwind. “Sounds ridiculous, honestly. Left me a bit rattled.”

“So nightmares, then?” AJ questioned, gently.
“I mean, I’m not ten,” Tom mumbled, rubbing a hand over his jaw, almost dislodging his headphones, “I shouldn’t be not able to go back to bed just because of a bad dream, but I just… it left me feeling really weird.”
“What was it about?” Luke questioned, quietly. His eyes were piercing on the camera, and Tom shifted slightly.
“I dunno, it’s faded a lot,” he lied, stiffly. It had stuck with him more clearly than any dream he’d had before; maybe not the details, admittedly, but that vague sense of comfortable warmth and relief, the sensation of death, the terrified noises of friends and family that had meant nothing at all in the end… 

“Must’ve been bad if it stopped you from sleeping, though.” Sam encouraged, and Tom let his eyes flicker over each of their little windows looking at him, throat bobbing. He hadn’t even told Pip, but…
“It was… I mean, it wasn’t really… uh…”
“Tom, if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine,” AJ said, “But maybe getting it out might, y’know, lessen the load on your brain a bit?”

“Mm.” he grimaced as he made the uncertain hum in the back of his throat, fidgeting in his chair. “I shouldn’t have brought it up, really, it was just - y’know. Just a dream, it’s dumb.”
“Oh, so, yeah, it was definitely bad.” Sam sighed. “Come on, man, you know we’re not going to let up. Just - tell us.”
“I uh. I…” he didn’t want to share this, but - shit, they were right. He took a slow breath. “I dreamed that I’d killed myself, I think. It was murky, but it was… I killed myself. And you were all there, trying to save me, but I…” he trailed off, and swallowed hard. Saying it aloud had brought that feeling crashing back onto him. His chest ached, heavy with distorted melancholy, and he couldn’t figure out quite why he was craving. He subconsciously rubbed his thumb over the scars once more; distantly, he felt the pull towards his blades again, that floating hint in his thoughts that demanded he ground himself but he tried to shove it away.

“Holy shit.” Luke mumbled. “You weren’t kidding, of course that’s… are you okay? Fuck.”
“Yeah, that’s a hell of a nightmare.” Sam agreed, puffing out a cloud of vapour, shaking his head slowly. AJ didn’t comment, but his eyes were wide, his mouth tight.
“I’m fine.” Tom said, quickly. “Honestly, genuinely, I’m fine, I haven’t wanted to - I mean, I’m still - I’m okay. I haven’t wanted to do that for - for years, not really.” he knew they were probably thinking of his relapses and of, well, university and - other times. “I think that’s why it was so jarring, my brain -”
“I still have nightmares about that.” AJ’s voice was quiet enough that his mic barely picked it up. He was looking down now, features still drawn. “About finding you. Not just - memories, but - y’know. New nightmares. Um.” he swallowed hard. “Not as much, recently, usually only when I’m really stressed or… worried.”

Guilt curled around his heart, tightening like a vice. He hadn’t known. God, he had no idea, but of course that would stick with him. What an awful fucking time that had been, and he’d been lucky enough to miss the vast majority of it, being, well. Nearly dying, and the hospital bed and the recovery… he had avoided the crying and the heartbreak and the fear. Of course, they’d made no secret of their concern after, but… Christ. What a thing. What a thing to know, that he was the cause of his friends having nightmares…
“AJ…”
“It’s not just me.” AJ murmured. Tom’s eyes flickered to Sam, who was looking away from the camera; Luke, who seemed rather interested in his hands.
“Really?”
“Yeah, alright,” Sam sighed. “Once or twice or… it was mostly, y’know, around the time, uh… yeah.”
“Mhm.” Luke said, just about audible. “Yeah.”
“Shit.” Tom muttered. “I’m sorry, I’m - I didn’t mean to - “

“This isn’t an excuse to blame yourself all over again,” Luke said, firmly, “You weren’t well, and you’ve been doing better for years. And we’re your best friends. Of course we’d be worrying about it, Christ.” he sat back in his chair with a sigh, shaking his head slightly. “I know what you’re like, mate, but beating yourself up over it won’t help anything, alright? Just… it was traumatic. Nightmares are normal.” 
“It’s been years, though.” he pointed out, rubbing his fingers over his eyes, looking away from the screen and out the window because right now he couldn’t bear to see any of their faces. “That was… that was uni. That was…” he grimaced. He’d come… close. More than once. More than he’d told any of them, or even Pip. He’d had downswings that they’d seen, where they would drag him out of bed onto the sofa even if he had no energy for anything and he knew it was because they were worried and, of course, he always hated it at the time… but was grateful when he felt better.

“And you… you really don’t want to, right?” Luke’s question was cautious, and even if his tone was acting at casual, Tom could feel it. The weight behind it. The way everyone else must have looked over, watching his face on the camera.
“No. I swear. I swear, I don’t. It’s… I think that’s why it threw me off so badly.” he frowned, looking back at them all as his brow furrowed. “It just came out of nowhere and scared the shit out of me for no reason.” he barked a laugh, slightly too short, too loud, edging into manic, then rubbed a hand through his hair as he exhaled slowly again.

He’d sunk enough time into questioning himself over this whole damn thing. About whether he really wanted to walk that path again. He wasn’t interested in readdressing it. In falling into them obsessively watching him and worrying and every bullshit that came with it. He wasn’t sure what the dream meant, or if it meant anything or was just a sign of… stress, or whatever other weirdness was going on in his head.

“If you’re sure.” and there was a such a gentleness in Luke’s tone, even through a scratchy Zoom call, that his throat felt tight. He nodded, firmly, resting his hands down on the desk in front of him.

“I’m sure. Honestly, wish I hadn’t said anything.” he laughed, even if it was reedy.
“I’m glad you did, though.” Luke answered, and he couldn’t bear to meet his eyes on the screen, despite the smile on his lips now and the tension slowly oozing out of his shoulders. “I’m glad you told us.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” and the others chimed in to agree, before the meeting finally got on track and he found his brain relaxing. He tried to tell himself he was imagining the intensity with which Luke was watching the screen, or that it could be looking at any of them, but that feeling that he was under a microscope wouldn’t go away. The weirdest thing was, though… he found he didn’t mind too much.

-

“Tom? You good?” Sam paused, looking across at the other man, feeling as his brows began to furrow. He was sat bolt upright, hands in his lap, gaze fixed across at the other side of the room. He hadn’t been responding for a while, actually, now that Sam thought about it – the conversation had been flowing around him without any input. “Mate?” he said, as a few seconds ticked by without any answer. Now AJ and Luke were looking, too, and the air in the green room had changed.

“What’s going on?” AJ asked, and it was gentle, aimed at Tom, but it was a real question, too, for the room in general. Luke got to his feet at the same time as Sam; he was closer, reaching the lanky man before he could, so Sam hung back just a little. He crouched, resting his hands on Tom’s legs, looking up at him.
“Tom?” Luke said, gently. His knee was starting to bounce, a rapid wriggle, and now that Sam was looking he could see the way his shoulders were starting to rise and fall faster, with more intensity. Shit.

“You’re okay, just talk to us. Come on. We’re right here, Tom.” his thumb was rubbing over the narrow knee and Tom’s throat bobbed now, glazed eyes fixed into the distance.
“Yeah, we’re all here,” Sam agreed, quickly. “As long as you need. You’re okay.” he perched against the edge of the sofa opposite, not knowing how to help. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen Tom check out like this but it hadn’t been for a long while. Actually, the last time he could remember was just before lockdown…

“What triggered this?” AJ asked, softly, fidgeting next to Sam, caught in the need to help and the inability to do so.
“No idea.” he replied, just as quietly, rubbing a hand over his chin, scratching at his beard.
“Tom.” Luke said, a little more firmly now, “Come on. Follow my rhythm, yeah?” his eyes drifted to where Luke was tapping his fingers against Tom’s knee, one two three four, one two three four, and then Tom’s hand twitching slightly in response where it was resting in his lap. His eyes shut, shoulders bowing in a little, and he inhaled so sharply it sounded almost like he was about to throw up. Sam had jolted to his feet without thinking about it, and Luke had sat back slightly on his heels, hesitating between action and worry.

Then he was up, too, and yanking Tom into a bone crushing hug, holding onto him with everything he had. Tom shuddered again and then relaxed slowly, his face sinking into Luke’s shoulder.

“We’ve got you.” he said, now, gently, “You’re okay. You’re here. You’re in the green room. We just finished a show. It was a good show.” he insisted, “And you’re okay.” and it seemed so easy, for Luke, even if he was worried, to fall into that role for Tom right then. When Sam had frozen. When Sam had let him down.
“Sorry.” Tom wheezed, and Sam closed his eyes for a moment, a wave of immense relief at hearing that tremulous voice. “I’m sorry -”
“It’s okay, mate, it’s okay,” Luke said, immediately, “You’re fine. Shit happens, right?”

“I just – I got – I don’t – I don’t know what -”
“It’s okay.” Luke leaned back slightly, gripping his shoulder firmly. “Tom. It’s okay. You don’t need to validate it. We’re right here.”
“We’ve got you.” Sam chimed in, nodding, “As long as you need.”
“But I don’t understand,” the frustration, the crack and tremble in his voice, the edge of a sniff as his hand came up to press against his eyes. “I was fine, and now I feel like my brain is – is all – my – we just did a show,” he exclaimed, “And I was fine, and it was good, and now everything’s scrambled and I feel like I’m – like I’m – losing my mind – the words aren’t -” he grimaced.

“Brain fog?” Sam suggested. Tom nodded, a few errant curls bouncing out from their gelled position as he did so.
“It’s like my brain has been turned into goo,” he groaned, leaning back down so his forehead was against Luke’s shoulder, who slid a hand around the back of his neck and gently stroked his thumb, over and over, rhythmic. A moment later Tom sighed, visibly relaxing as the blunt nails began to scratch the skin and the shortest hairs there.

“Maybe we should skip the meet and greet tonight, say you have somewhere to be?” Sam suggested, doing his best to maintain a calm voice, not wanting Tom to get more stressed than he already was. Luke had eased away enough to sit next to Tom on the sofa, now, shifting his arm around to rub firmly against his back and shoulder blades. Long fingers rubbing at his face, Tom sniffed, and AJ moved forward with a box of tissues, saying not a word as Tom reaching out and mumbled his thanks. Even from here, Sam could see the trembles that kept running down his arms, trying to swallow back the worry in his throat.

Something felt wrong. Something had been sitting wrong in his skull since the zoom call just a few short days ago, but how could he begin to explain it? Tom had a nightmare, so now he was so worried he’d found himself buying gauze when he picked up paracetamol, just… just in case. How well stocked the little medicines cabinet was, how baffled Jay was when she saw the extra things he was filling it with. She was so incredibly smart, and he knew he couldn’t be in better hands with her around, but she could see the worry in him. Just… 

“Are you scared that Scarlett is going to get hurt?” she’d asked him that night, cuddled up against his chest. Half asleep, he’d blinked open his eyes to her big dark ones, gently lit by the street lights leaking through the gap in the curtain. In that shadowed room, everything heavy with the hush, he hadn’t been sure how he could lie to her.
“I’m just… worried.” he whispered. “In general. About Tom… he’s been so quiet lately, even for him.” he shook his head slightly. “About the other guys. Scarlett. You.” her cheek was soft and warm under his thumb, and her lips against his were familiar and oh so tender.
“Everything will be okay.” she murmured, gently. “I promise.”
“Doctors aren’t meant to make promises they don’t know they can keep.” he was meant to be teasing, but even Sam was aware of the weight in his tone. Jay sighed, tucking her head into his neck, his arms easily drawing her closer.
“I know.” she whispered back.

Then he’d slept, and felt slightly foolish when he opened the cabinet for his tooth paste and saw the package of clean white material there, but… now, in this green room, it was taking everything he had not to reach out and take and check Tom over. Which was ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous. He was clearly shaken as badly as the rest of them! Fighting back his overprotective urges, Sam drew in a slow, cautious breath, sharing a brief glance with AJ.

“I don’t want to let them down,” Tom was mumbling, voice thick, “They’re all waiting to see us.”
“I know you like to see the fans, but Tom, you don’t have to. We’re thinking about dropping the meet and greets altogether, right? Good practice.” Sam said, desperate to not sound judgemental, but Goddamnit, his people pleasing had always been a problem.
“We know what you’re like.” Luke said, more firmly, “And Tom, you’re not in a fit state to see anyone.”
“I just…” he tailed off, and then groaned, head sinking into his hands and rubbing at his brows. “Okay, okay, fine. Just… I’ll do a quick hi and bye.”
“Nope, not a chance.” Luke said, shaking his head firmly. “You’ll get sucked in, mate. Me and AJ will stay, you and Sam slip out the back, okay? We’ll do a quick chat, grab any gifts, all that stuff. We’ll say you had to dash off.”
“I… I just feel bad…”

“You shouldn’t.” Sam said, shaking his head, “They all love you, regardless. You’re the fan favourite.”
He wouldn’t lie; there was a warm relief as Tom flushed slightly, waving a hand in the air as if to waft away the compliment. They’d done so much work to make sure he was willing to accept any praise for his excellent performances, and the confidence he had compared to when he was a nervous teenager was outstanding, but he still found it easy to slip back into his humble nature. Actually, all of them were a fair bit shyer than their stage personas leaned into; it was somewhat nice to play the character, to be cocky, bright, silly Sam and then go home or the pub and enjoy just… being himself, with no expectations.

“We have it handled. Take the tech with you, too,” Luke added, getting to his feet again, “We’ll be decoys, you guys get out of here. I’ll see you in a bit, okay?”
“Alright.” and as Tom’s shoulders sagged, Sam allowed his eyes to linger on his face. He was shaken, blotchy but under it all, alarmingly pale, and the dark shadows under his eyes had been easy enough to miss on stage, now seeming horrifically exhausted. How had he missed it earlier? Or was it only because of the panic attack..?

Right now, that didn’t matter. What mattered was getting Tom out of here, and Sam knew that, more than anything, he liked when he felt like he could do something helpful. Keeping Tom on task and moving was a job that he could do, so he was going to do it. It didn’t take long to gather up the boxes they were tasked with taking back with them, handing Tom a water and making sure he took a few sips whilst the others headed out from the green room and towards the public area. He hesitated before sinking onto the sofa next to Tom.

“You uh.. You okay?” he asked, after a moment, keeping his voice gentle. “I mean,  you’re not, but, uh… well.”
“I’m okay.” Tom’s voice was barely audible, but at least it sounded sincere, eyes heavy, closing as he drew in a breath slow and let it out slower. Hands flexed a few times before he accepted the case, and then unfolded himself into a standing position. It was always jarring to Sam, the subtle but undeniable shift in his demeanour. How he went from open, friendly, one of the most bubbly and inviting people he knew to this… shell. No, no that wasn’t fair, but.. It was such a distinct melancholy that laid it’s coat over his friend. He quashed the flare of anger, that Tom should be subjected to such cruelty. One of the most kind, most moral, most loving men he knew, unafraid of softness and so secure in his masculinity in a way that few could manage… that someone so deserving of love could suffer such attacks by his own brain.

He hated a problem that he couldn’t fix. Had been getting better with that, since Scarlet was born; accepting when you just had to make do. He knew it would be a nightmare when she had to start to face the obstacles that came from being a real living, breathing person. For now, well, at least her problems could mostly be fixed in his arms…

They waved to the staff as they went, taking a few twisting back turns before emerging out of a back door, hoping that the lobby, occupied by lingering fans, would be taking the brunt of it all. Thankfully, they were right. A few were outside, chatting, familiar red flannels, some with cigarettes, and Sam could only feel immensely grateful that their fans were generally respectful when it came to giving distance… thankfully rare in the ‘chase them down the street’ aspect some performers had to deal with. Tom tensed beside him, but with force of will Sam turned, and he heard the footsteps settling into rhythm before glancing over to see his friend. It was habit for him to match the stride of his short friends, always having to nearly meander; seeing him actually run was always slightly crazy to Sam, although, admittedly, that time at Uni he’d skidded in the mud dashing to hold the bus for them and ended up flat on his back and dazed always flicked to mind. He was most definitely more graceful now, more co ordinated and aware of himself…

He thought of Tom pressing a heat pack against his lower back and grimacing, after a show one night, and wondered now if the two are related. Probably not.

It was a bit of a nightmare, admittedly, the tube to Tom’s new place. The old place hadn’t been perfect, but at least it was in Islington, nice and close… now.... And whilst Sam knew that, realistically, he could get off at his own stop and leave Tom to go ahead… or, well, actually, if he was really trying to get home, he should absolutely not be on the same line that Tom would take… he couldn’t do that to his clearly still jittery friend. Tom didn’t acknowledge it as they headed down to the closest tube station, letting Sam take the lead, grateful that at this time of night, everything was quieter.

It would be at least an hour, more once you counted the changes, but Sam didn’t raise a word of complaint. Jay would understand. The bustle of the tube around them went from a still decent hum to a whisper to near nothing as they sped towards the outer areas of London, and when the tube surfaced towards the end of it’s line, he was finally able to access the internet again. A handful of messages from Luke and AJ, confirming that they had escaped and would meet at Tom’s place. He fired off a quick text to Jay. So wrapped up in his phone, when Tom’s head flopped onto his shoulder, he startled. 

A glance into the window opposite them. The dark night sky made it into a scratched and murky mirror, but even in that shadowed reflection, he could see just how wrecked Tom looked. His eyes were almost closed, just a slip of white; hands resting on top of the case, and there was no way being hunched enough to lean on Sam could be comfortable for him back. Regardless, he adjusted until he was able to rest his own cheek on top of Tom’s fluffy plume of hair, allowing the rumble to wash over them both and soothe them into something like contentness.

-

“Man, this place really is shit.” Sam commented, casually, as he glanced around the street around them, frowning. Tom let out a short sigh, making sure to make it pointed, as he dug in his pockets to find his key. He managed to unearth two of his old flat keys, now decidedly useless, as he struggled to locate the actual correct way to gain entry to his flat. The most annoying thing was that Sam was right. It was further out, it was smaller, and the features they’d liked most when they’d viewed it were rapidly becoming the major issues with the damn property. Getting enough sleep was hard enough with the building materials everywhere and the skittering of rodents in the walls and a million different things adding onto his endless workload.

Maybe that was why he’d been dreaming of death. His unconscious mind latching onto the noise of something. Or the fucking asbestos in the wall. But he thought of the endless arguments with the landlord at his old flat, the black mold creeping it’s way from the doorway and up the wall of their bedroom, the snide comment about not having issues if he didn’t have tenants… he was fucking sick of being bullied. It was so strange, really, to think about it. They were rocketing up in the world, performing at larger and larger venues, and he still couldn’t afford to buy a fucking house. The true millenial experience.

His fingers fumbled as he finally hooked the keys out of his pocket, and he just… stood there. Watching as they rotated, then landed on the pavement with a muted clink. Eyes fixed on the glimmer of metal in the murky streetlights, it took a second to realise that his hand was trembling. Oh. Maybe that was why he’d lost his hold. A moment more passed, stretching and twisting around him, a breath that wasn’t stopping, sluggish and -

Sam reached down and scooped up the keys. His dark eyes lingered on Tom’s face for a moment before he took over, unlocking the door with three quick movements, and then shoving it wide. He rested his hand on Tom’s lower back, just above his hip, palm solid and warm even through the fabric of his jacket. Stirred out of his frozen state, he led the way into the flat, nudging some of the mess on the floor out of the way with his foot. Sam hadn’t been over since the first day they’d moved in, and although he’d been kept abreast of all the bullshit Tom had been dealing with, he let out a low whistle at the state of the place. Finding himself grimacing at the reminder of just what a shithole he was living in, trying to quash the guilt that Pip was having to suffer through this too…

“Yeah, it’s not great.” trying so hard to maintain a lighthearted tone, he forced a faint laugh, hoping that his tired state would help him with not alerting Sam to how much his head was aching. His chest was aching. Actually, all of him was aching, and the idea of laying down was sounding more and more appealing. The way Sam moved into his flat, carefully edging around the boards on the floor and allowing his eyes to linger on the rat traps and still unopened boxes with messy labels slapped on the top of them. 

“Did you want a cup of tea?” he offered, automatically, as he plonked down the metal case on it’s usual place, the technically-a-shoe-stand by the door which always held whatever random items he had to hand that he didn’t want to lose but inevitably would. The little tray there was currently holding several bracelets, a spare house key, and a phone charger cable. Sam hesitated a moment before adding Tom’s keys to the bowl, other hand reaching out to rest on his shoulder. It was a comfort that he had to resist the urge to lean into, because if he sunk into Sam’s arms it would be hard to pretend he was even slightly okay. Not that his friends would be shitty about it, he knew that, but… 

He’d been feeling weird since he’d had that nightmare. Found it harder to get to sleep, even when that was something he already struggled with. Doing a show felt like… a release, usually. He was able to just be fun, he was able to - let loose. It freed him, untangled the bands of admin and self judgement and money worry and this fucking flat that were all wrapping and binding and choking him when he was - oh, he was - oh -

“Tom.” Sam was right in front of him, now, reaching out, pressing his palms against Tom’s shoulders which was good because those twin points of heat on his skin were grounding and mostly because his legs were suddenly shaking like his hands outside and that pain in his chest was back, like a lightning bolt, everything was overwhelming and the trembles were clawing up his spine and Sam, Sam, solid and real and right in front of him. One hand moved, wrapping around his long fingers and clutching onto him, those big dark eyes that were trying so hard to catch his.

“Tom, I’ve got you.” Sam’s voice was bubbling, underwater, and he was drowning, how was he drowning when a minute ago he hadn’t even realised he was swimming? A rising flood dragging him down and the only thing stopping him from going under was the way Sam clutched him like he was something worth saving. Each breath he tried to take was restricted, as if his ribs were tightening no matter how much he tried to force them apart. Why now? Why was he suddenly fighting? Why was Sam so scared? He had to be fine, he had to be, oh, his legs were getting worse and they couldn’t hold him but Sam was there, was right there, was solid, and he was still floppy haired but now his face was clear of stubble, and eyes wide and so, so worried, holding him up in a student union bathroom as he trembled all over and gasped for air, the blur of alcohol and the pressure of his dissertation having dragged him down and down and down. At least that time, he’d felt that building, even if he hadn’t recognised the symptoms there. Now he knew. The slow creep. The overwhelm. He knew how to deal with this. This? This was new.

“Okay, okay, come on, come on,” Sam was sliding a hand around his back and leading him, but it was no good, his legs couldn’t take his weight and Sam was swearing but even with the grip on his hips and the hold and the solidness that was Sam it was very different to hold someone up on stage when they were an active participant and he the water was in his lungs. Sam was still there, and he was dragging him down, and the smell of musty plyboard and the poison they had put into the walls was gluing itself to his mouth as his vision got blurrier. “It’s okay, Tom, I’ve got you, mate, I’ve got you.” he was insisting, over and over, and the floor was so cold under his knees, little gritty grains of dirt crunching and it should have been grounding but it just made him all the more aware of how fucked up this all was.

“I’m s-sorry-” the words were struggling to wash out of his mouth, it felt like they should be carried on a wave of salt water but the taste was mere droplets from his watering eyes. No great ocean to force his apology out, and Sam was talking, fuzzy as he was, the details lost but the tone of worry and love so heavy that it was an anchor to tug him down, down, into the depths, he couldn’t breathe, there was a hand pressing firm against his chest and whether it was to keep him from keeling over or to try to help he didn’t know. The spread of flesh made him aware of his heart, bouncing like a jackrabbit against his ribs. This wasn’t fair, this wasn’t fair -

“I know it’s not fair, mate,” Sam whispered, and he hadn’t realised that was out loud, but it was hard for him to care. “Something’s going on, huh?” and there was just a faint laugh at it, but he knew, he knew Sam was scared and god the guilt was curling and twisting around him again and it really, really wasn’t helping with the breathing issue.

A crowd around him. Voices. Fear. Begging him to stay. Why was he thinking about this now? Of all the things to get dragged into his brain, that fucking dream. The relief. The relief that flourished to the end of his fingertips, like a warm balm, the idea that it was all going to be over and he could let go and float away and there would be no fear and there would be none of this ache in his chest and the exhaustion. 

There would be no Sam, who was holding onto him tight, now, clutching him so close, as if he didn’t want Tom to wash away, as if he wanted him there. Over and over, the desperation in their voices as they tried, tried so hard to save him, and why would it do this? Fuck. Fuck, right now, right now… Sam holding onto him like he was real, someone worth saving, like he deserved to -

“I’ve got you.” Sam was saying it, again, and it actually kind of felt like he… did. His chest still ached, limbs still shaking, he was still wearing his coat and even though the flat was cold he could feel the crawl of itchiness up his arms as sweat trickled down. He wanted to lay down. His heart thumped erratically against his ribs, yet it wasn’t kicking as badly now, less trying to drive itself through the bone and more just… squirming. Sam squeezed his hand. “Can you stand, Tom?” he asked, quietly, voice shaking. Forcing his eyes open, Tom looked down at him, kneeling in front of him.

Big dark eyes, heavy with fear, a slight shake and hitch in his own breath, but trying to be the pillar that Tom needed right now. That he didn’t deserve -
“You should go home.” he found himself mumbling. Whilst his voice was thick, too much in his throat, his blocked nose and blotchy eyes, at least he wasn’t stuttering or choking now. “You shouldn’t waste your time on me.”
“Not a waste, mate, don’t talk like that.” Sam said it immediately, without hesitation. “You’re just having a bad day, okay?”
“Two panic attacks in - in a fucking day.” he choked through a laugh, then groaned, slumping forward and resting his head into Sam’s neck as he sniffed. The red flannel would need a wash, but it always did after a show anyway.

“When’s the last time you had one?” Sam asked, gently, a hand rubbing his back, holding him close and not rushing even though Tom was sure his legs must be aching. He didn’t deserve him. Didn’t deserve any of them.
“Um.” he clenched his jaw, trying to drag his brain back, to remember, to know when he’d last had a panic attack. To… he took slow breaths. The last time he’d had one. Or the last time that he’d had one in front of someone, where they could talk about it.

“When the Apollo reached out to us, the very first time.” he admitted, “I got the email, and I was… so excited. Beyond it. But it just… all that old dread came running back. The fear of it all.” he swallowed hard. “The idea that I might fuck it up or…”
“You didn’t tell us about that.” Sam murmured.
“No, I… it was brief. Pip was there, so they uh… they calmed me down, and it was… it was fine.” he cleared his throat. 

“Okay.” Sam said, after a moment, and then his hand was squeezing Tom’s arm. “Can you walk?”

“Yeah, I… I think I can.” he whispered. “Fuck, I’ve never gone down like that before.” he rubbed at his eyes, roughly. With Sam’s help, he managed to unfold himself from the ground, still shaky, tender, but much better. Sam flicked on lights as they went, into the lounge, just as messy as the rest of the damn flat but there was his familiar sofa. Careful hands slid off his jacket, and the relief of the cooler air hitting his skin released a low sigh from his chest, and it felt like the first time he’d actually breathed easy since after the show.

“Caught me a bit off guard, too.” Sam chuckled, easing him down onto the sofa. “Look, I’ll um… I’ll make you a tea, yeah? Or, um, do you want a G&T?”
“G&T would be good.” he murmured, rubbing at his eyes and sitting back slightly. “Gin’s in the, uh, cupboard on the… left? Over the toaster.” he gestured vaguely.
“I’ll figure it out, don’t worry.” Sam said, offering him a smile, before moving away and into the kitchen. Taking a few long moments to catch his breath, rubbing over his aching chest, Tom allowed his thoughts to wander. 

He was so used to the slow crawl. This bolt of a panic attack was so unlike anything else. It was terrifying. Beyond the physical symptoms he was having to endure, it was bigger than that. If this happened when he was talking to fans… if this happened, God forbid, on stage? What the hell would they do? He couldn’t drop like that in  front of their fans. Maybe there was something bigger wrong with him… he rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, scratching the short trimmed hairs, trying to find something soothing in it.

When Sam returned, he perched on the sofa opposite, handing over the glass with it’s clear, slightly fizzing payload. He’d cracked one of the beers Tom kept in the fridge mostly for when he or AJ came to visit. Taking a few moments to feel the cool of the glass in his hand, Tom closed his eyes. When he took a sip, the alcohol burned nicely on his tongue and throat, the cold sharp of the bitter tonic was pleasant. Good. He felt more like himself. Even if he was exhausted down to the bone.

“The guys are on their way here.” Sam told him, all quiet. “Where, uh… where is Pip, actually?”
“They were at a show tonight, too.” he mumbled. “Not performing, uh - went to see it. It’s, uh… ah, fuck, what was it called?” he murmured, fighting against his foggy brain. “It was a drag show they’ve been looking forward to for ages.”
“Ah, that’s the one Jay couldn’t go to.” Sam nodded.
“Mhm, yeah. She’s at her parents, right?”
“With Scarlett, yeah. Just for a couple nights.” he was smiling so warmly, and Tom smiled back. This felt normal. Just… normal. As if he hadn’t been on the floor a handful of minutes ago. He dusted the crumbs of white powder subconsciously off his trousers, even though they were leaving a smear behind, dissolving rather than being flicked away.

“You enjoying the peace and quiet?”
“Nah, I like having them there.” he shook his head, “Reminds me how lucky I am.”
“Guess you still have babysitting duty, though.” Tom murmured, and at Sam’s frown, he smiled despite himself, being unable to resist throwing himself under the bus.
“Okay, so, first of all,” he said, faux offended, sitting a little bit towards Tom, “Looking after my daughter isn’t babysitting, that’s just fatherhood. Second of all - looking after you isn’t babysitting. It’s just being friends. Okay?” he reached out, giving Tom’s shoulder a squeeze. 

“Thanks, Sam.” he murmured. “I’m, uh.” Be honest. Stop hiding things from them. “It scared the shit out of me, actually, uh. That… that it happened twice. It was the same in the green room. I felt good, and then the next thing I knew I was - spiralling, and I couldn’t breathe.” he grimaced. “Then I got in, and the moment the door closed all this - this feather hit me. Like a lightning bolt.”
“It’s never happened like that before?” Sam’s brows furrowed.
“No, it’s… I’ve been caught off guard before, like at, um, at university.”
“Yeah, I remember those.”
“But they were still slow burn. All the symptoms were there, building, and I could recognise them all afterwards and now I know what to look for. And you guys know that. I go for a walk, I talk to you, or Pip, or my family.” he grimaced. “But this is… I can’t prepare for it. I can’t brace. If it happens on stage -”
“It won’t happen on stage,  Tom -”
“But if it does, and everyone sees that?”
“It won’t happen on stage.”
“Sam -”
“No, listen to me.” Sam had put his beer on the table with a dull clunk, turning to look at him, elbows on knees and eyes fixed in on his face. “Tom, it won’t happen on stage. Because when you’re on stage, you leave it all behind. You’re better at it than anyone else - well, except maybe Luke.” he added, and Tom couldn’t help but snort. Maybe Sam had a point, though. He was someone else on that stage. Sure, he was confident enough with the fans, but all that craziness came out the second he had the chance to become someone else.

“Yeah, I guess you have a point.” he said, softly, and tried to allow himself to actually accept that, to crush the fear back down. 

Before, the water had felt like… peace. He remembered that. The dream. The… nightmare. When had he started thinking of it as a dream rather than a nightmare? The floating. Now, he’d felt like he was drowning, and it was terrifying. The sea. God, there was a metaphor there if he had his writing brain on, but more than anything he was craving going to bed. The idea of the guys coming over was nice, but really, ugh, the idea of laying down… 

“When does the drag show finish?”
“Uhh,” he tugged his phone from his pocket and glanced at it, “In about an hour, I think, but they said they might go out for drinks after.”
Sam reached out, resting his hand on Tom’s knee, now, squeezing gently. He took a sip of his beer, clearly taking his time to get to his point.
“You sure you don’t want to call them, Tom?” he asked, tilting his head. “I think they’d want to know about this -”
“No, no,” he said, quickly, shaking his head, a small bolt of fear at the idea of Pip knowing right now. “It’s fine, they don’t need to -”
“You shouldn’t hide this from them, Tom,” Sam said, low, insistent, and he huffed sharply between his teeth.
“I’m not hiding it,” he tried to bite back the spike of irritation. That wasn’t fair on Sam. “But not now. Not when they’re out, having fun. They work so hard, especially compared to us. To… me.”

“You handle so much of the admin work,” Sam frowned, “Tom, you do shitloads of work, what the fuck are you talking about?”
“Ah, yeah, but not like Pip does. That’s a real job.”
“... yeah, you’ve got me there.” Sam snorted, and took a swig of his beer.

A sharp rap on the door and Tom jumped, almost slopping his G&T over the side of the glass. After a second his logical brain took over, calming him down - as Sam spoke his thought aloud.
“Must be Luke and AJ. I’ll let ‘em in.” he said, and got to his feet. Grateful that he’d gone, Tom just breathed. Bracing himself for the inevitable worry, and the love, and the ache in his chest as he knew he didn’t deserve it.

-

“How’s he doing?” Luke asked, keeping his voice as soft as he could, as they moved away from the three way hug they’d immediately fallen into. AJ’s eyes were also drawn and worried as he started to slide his jacket off his shoulder, leaning a bag against the metal box on the shoe rack. Most likely it was full of gifts from the fans, knowing what they were like…

“Uh, not great. He had another one.”
“Shit.” AJ murmured.
“Yeah, it was… really fucking bad.” he admitted, with a wave of guilt at saying so when Tom was in the other room and hadn’t agreed to share it, but he was sure that he would want the guys to know. “He just… we were talking and we were fine, and the next thing he was gasping and couldn’t stand.”
“He couldn’t stand?” Luke asked, quieter, eyes drawn with worry. Sam nodded, lips feeling numb, rubbing his hand over his beard for the familiar scratching sensation. Remembering how quickly Tom had gone from standing to sinking his entire weight onto him was still horrible, sickening. He hated seeing his strong friend brought so low so quickly.

“He’s on the sofa now.” he said, keeping his voice soft. It was hard to think back, to Uni, to the state that had slid right under their noses until everything had tumbled down like a house of cards. How much he’d missed. How much AJ had picked up on. Luke was always better at this. Sam knew he cared too strongly; not that Luke didn’t care, the opposite, but he didn’t get bogged down in the need to fix that possessed Sam’s mind with such virulence. It made him a shitty friend sometimes. Tom carried his heart on his sleeve, took everything in, like a sponge; it was a blessing to be friends with him but he was so worried about not upsetting those around him, that he found it so hard to accept help…

“He’s been really quiet recently anyway.” Luke murmured back, shucking his own jacket, “Since he had that weird nightmare, right?”
“Yeah. Hasn’t mentioned having any more, though.” he frowned. It had clearly rattled Tom; and he knew what it was like, but to have it sit on him so heavy for so long… he was so wrapped up in Scarlett, maybe he hadn’t been paying enough attention.
“Don’t do that.” Luke reached out, resting a hand on his. “I can see it on your face, Sam. No self blame, for you or him. We’re all grown ups, right?” he gave a half grin, just a hint of that cheeky persona that floated just under the surface. AJ nudged past them, taking a moment just to clap Sam on the shoulder, and headed past them into the lounge.

“Hey, mate, how you feeling?”
“Hey, AJ. Yeah, I’m… I’m okay. You want a drink?”
“That’d be great, but you just chill, I’ll grab it myself.”

“He sounds steady enough.” Luke commented, leaning his shoulder against the wall - before jerking away as it made a rather alarming creaking noise. “Shit, this place is awful.” he muttered, and Sam couldn’t hold back his sharp snort of amusement. “Why did he leave the last place again?”
“Ugh, the landlord was fucking him around.” Sam sighed, remembering the way Tom would arrive to rehearsals all smiles and quickly devolved into frustration as he mentioned the endless parade of trying to deal with black mold and broken heating and a million other things.
“Don’t think this is going to be much better.” Luke’s nose wrinkled, dusting a hand over the wall and triggering a small avalanche of house dandruff onto the floor. Gaze following the fall of dust, Sam’s eyes lingered on the smeared patch where his and Tom’s legs had picked up the worst of it.

“Not really fair, is it?” Sam shook his head.
“I can see why he didn’t want to put me up.”
“Oh, yeah, shit, this is your first time seeing the place, right?”
“Yeah.” Luke nodded, “Look, let’s uh… maybe we should order some takeaway, make sure he eats, and then get him to bed? I know the panic attacks are exhausting.” voice low and heavy, something in his tone made Sam hesitate, frowning in his general direction. Before he could think how to say the question, though, Luke nudged his way by to join the others in the lounge. Left blinking in the corridor, Sam took two seconds to send a text to Jay, then went to join his friends.

AJ had settled next to Tom, and was talking quietly, taking an occasional sip of his beer. His hand rested, not on his knee, but close, a distance of only a few inches that AJ seemed uncertain whether or not to gap. His shoulders were relaxed, his smile easy, the discussion apparently about the fans and the various gifts they’d been handed. The fact that people hadn’t been mad, but had inquired about the location of Tom and Sam. It seemed that he was doing a good job, handling making it seem less that they were upset at the lack of him and more how much they cared for his wellbeing and comfort. The fans were mostly good at that. Sam knew Tom was pretty crushed at them having to say they weren’t doing meet and greets any more, but the toll it was taking on him, on all of them, was definitely apparent.

Slumping onto the other sofa next to Luke, who was holding his own bottle, Sam forced himself to offer an easy smile. He was tired, from the show, from the stress of dealing with Tom, and whilst for many dads it would be nice to not have to look after a baby for a few days, more than anything he found himself missing her and Jay. It really was such a light in his life. Still, he tried to enjoy the conversation as it expanded out, settling into laughing at how flustered the audience member doing puppets had gotten, and trying to think of the things that had gone well during the performance, buoying Tom as best they could. It felt almost normal.

As the atmosphere settled, he slid his phone out of his pocket. 

“Alright, uh, what do we want? Indian? Chinese? I don’t know if there’s anything good around here, uh, but it’s still London, so we have pizza…?”
“Ah, guys, I don’t know,” Tom said, “I’m knackered. Not to be uh, anti social, yknow, just think I might head to bed soon.”
“You haven’t eaten any dinner, and I could fuckin’ murder something greasy.” Luke commented, “We can get something with fast delivery?”
“Indian sounds good, but I’m not opposed to pizza.” AJ chimed in.
“Or we could find somewhere close and do a pick up order.”
“Can’t drive, we’ve been drinking.” Tom pointed out.
“Just a few sips of beer, mate.” Sam said, raising his bottle.
“No.” Tom’s tone brokered no argument, so he held up his free hand in surrender and returned to his phone.
“Somewhere close with delivery, then.”
“Guys… it’s going to take you ages to get home on the tube.”
“All the more reason to get takeout.”
“Yeah, the night tube runs really late.” AJ said, smiling, nudging Tom’s arm. “Don’t worry so much about us. We’re big boys, we can take care of ourselves.”

He looked up from Just Eat as Tom sighed, then rolled his shoulders back, tired eyes flicking between AJ and Luke and then settling on Sam. His features drew in, something about him, with deep shadows showing under the baby deer brown, the usually pale skin looking almost waxy. He looked ill, but Sam supposed that was true, what with the panic attacks. 

“Alright, well, what do you have in? I could whack a frozen pizza in the oven?” he suggested, “That won’t take as long as delivery.”
“As long as it’s not one of those healthy cauliflower pizza things AJ eats.” Luke shuddered. “Worst shock of my life.”
“Hey, you don’t have to eat my food when you stay over.”
“There’s a reason I got a hotel this time!”
Through the lighthearted banter, Tom rolled his eyes, but offered Sam a smile that felt like an olive branch. Thank God. He was good about eating, especially nowadays, even with the ADHD distractions… but there was a time at university where it had become a problem.

AJ had been around more, then; that extra year Tom took, just to stay in the improv group, whilst Sam was struggling in a God awful marriage and Luke was… Luke. By his side, through all that shit. When their friendship had felt different, but not bad, just… different. He’d learnt a lot about what it meant to stay friends when the world wanted so bad to push people apart. But nothing, nothing, felt as good as performing on a stage. They had confirmed The Comedy Store, and that felt crazy, because they owed them so much… and now… the Apollo. It was beyond belief. From four damaged kids at university to this… if they could just get Tom to it.

“Let me go see what we’ve got.” Tom was saying, getting to his feet and thankfully looking entirely steady this time. He padded out of the room, and Sam made to get up, but Luke was gripping his sleeve, the banter gone. He looked down, raising an eyebrow.

“Look, we need to get him to eat.” Sam said, heading off what he was about to say, “Anything is better than nothing, right?”
“I know.” Luke said, softly. “It’s just -”

Bang!
“For FUCK’S SAKE!”

Both of them startled, heads swivelling. Jolting towards the kitchen, Sam could feel Luke and AJ just behind him. Tom was standing there, side of his fist still resting against the fridge door where he’d clearly hit it. 

“Stay back!” he said, quickly, throwing a hand out, and Sam stuttered to a stop, following his gaze down to a rather large puddle of water on the floor. Shit, he hadn’t seen that earlier when he’d gotten the lemonade out of the fridge.
“What the fuck?” Luke commented, brows furrowing. “Is that -”
“The freezer’s off.” Tom opened the door of it and gestured. Inside, damp cardboard, no sign of ice. “The whole thing’s off, it’s still plugged in it’s just… fuck.” his hips slumped back, leaning against the cupboards, resting his head into his hands. He rubbed fingertips roughly into his eyes with a shuddering sigh.

“Shit, mate, I’m sorry.” Luke commented. “Can we fix it?”
“We could cook off the stuff in the freezer, if it’s still frozen?” AJ suggested, cautiously. Tom shook his head, but Sam found himself speaking, some old remembered food safety thing.
“If it’s been off and it’s fully defrosted they’re not going to be safe to cook.” he said, “And if it’s been on the brink for a while then they might have defrosted and refrozen, which is very not safe.”
“I knew the movers laid it on it’s side, fuck.” Tom rubbed his hand over his cheeks and onto his beard, settling with it covering half his mouth. “And now we’re going to have to throw all this away and get a new fridge freezer and I just… hate… this fucking flat.” he groaned. “This isn’t fair.”

“It’s very much not fair.” Sam agreed. They took just a moment, then Luke clapped his hands together.
“Right. Where’s your cleaning stuff? Need to get the puddle mopped up. Worry about chucking the food in the morning.” he suggested. “You and Sam order some food, me and AJ will deal with this. Come on.” he nudged AJ’s arm. Tom gave them quick directions to the storage cupboard in the other room, and Sam took over his duty with sincerity, pulling up the app again.
“Okay, this place has good ratings. You okay with pizza?”
“Yeah, ‘course.” Tom replied, and Sam took a moment to just squeeze his arm. From the ever so slight tremble, easy to miss if he’d been unfamiliar with his friend, Tom was barely just holding himself together.

“This isn’t fair.” his voice was barely audible, when Sam glanced over from the options on his phone.
“I know.” he answered, as calm as he could manage. “Mate, you have more than enough shit to deal with. I’m sorry. Why don’t we go sit back in the lounge, let the guys handle this?” he suggested, then rested his hand on Tom’s forearm. When the other raised no objection, he led him away, past Luke with a mop in hand and AJ with a handful of old towels.

Slumping onto the sofa, Tom allowed his head to droop, and Sam just focused on ordering a couple of pizzas for them. Something easy, close by, with good ratings. When the bell rang twenty minutes later, Tom was resting his arm on the chair, head against his palm, scrolling on his phone with heavy eyes. As Sam bounced up to go collect their steamy payload, he paused by the kitchen - seeing Luke and AJ now focusing on emptying out the freezer into several black bin bags. His heart felt warm at the sight of them working so hard without having to say a word about it.

“Alright, pizza time.” he said quietly.
“We’ll be there in a minute.” AJ answered, and Sam smiled.

It didn’t seem all that much later that they were crowded in the lounge again, eating slices of cheesy gooey goodness. Tom perked up a little, but it was more than apparent he was struggling; and when the last slice was gone, Sam squeezed his shoulder firmly.

“Get some sleep.” he said, quiet but firm, trying to use a ‘dad’ voice he really didn’t think he’d cultivated yet. “We’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
“Yeah, mate. Thanks.” he smiled back as they waved their goodbyes and headed out into the chill London night. As they started to make their way down the pavement, he risked a glance up, seeing Tom standing in his window and giving them a small wave goodbye.

“He’ll be alright.” Luke said, nudging Sam’s arm. “Good night’s sleep and a hot shower will sort him out.”
“Yeah. Hope you’re right.” Sam replied, even as a sense of misgiving burned in his chest. God, he was looking forward to bed himself, trying not to acknowledge the at least an hour of tubes ahead of them all. The atmosphere of London seemed to sink into them all, slipping them into a sense of melancholy quiet as they made the long journey home.

-

“Wait, what the fuck?” the exclamation escaped before he could get control over it.
“What’s up?” Luke glanced over at him, brows starting to furrow. “Tom, you good?”
“I… okay, hold on, I need to make a phone call.”

They were in the middle of eating lunch. Luke had arrived off his flight maybe twenty minutes ago and they’d made the decision to head to Spoons and grab something to eat whilst they had time, before making their way over to the free association for the show tonight. But the email that had just pinged through had been flagged as important, because it came directly from the head of Angel Comedy’s show team. They’d been regularly going there for so many years now that they rarely talked beyond being told about the availability they had.

“Wait, what’s going on?” Luke sat up a little higher as Sam furrowed his brows, lowering his own burger onto his plate.
“They’re cancelling the Monday show.”
“What?!” Sam exclaimed, now jolting to his feet, “Why? What’s going on?”
“Is everyone okay?” AJ asked, voice heavy with concern.
“They said there’s been a threat or something? Hold on, I’m going to call and find out more.”

He stepped away from the table, well aware of the quiet behind him. There was no such thing as a quiet place in a Wetherspoons on a Friday, even in the afternoon, and he knew the signal in the bathroom was crap. Going out onto the street wouldn’t be much better, but he headed towards the back and out into the small beer garden that he knew was out there. It was still cold enough to be relatively empty out there, just a handful of people mostly smoking and scrolling on their phones. 

“Hey, Tom.” Mike answered, and he could already hear the nervousness in the man’s voice. He’d always found him nice enough, friendly and sharp, but none of this made any sense and the sparse details in the email he’d gotten just weren’t enough.
“Mike, is everyone okay?” he started, needing to get the question out of the way, hoping the answer was yes.
“All of us are okay,” he said, quickly, too fucking quickly, edging on sharp, “And nothing’s wrong with the venue, Tom, and I’m sorry, but we had to.”
“You had to? You had to cancel the show? Mate, it’s in three days, what the hell is going on?” he leaned his shoulder against an aging wooden beam over the smoking shelter. He ignored it’s creak of protest.

“Look, Tom, it’s nothing personal. Far from it, honestly. You… have you not been contacted about it?” his voice raised at the end, a hint higher, “I would have thought you’d been told.”
“We… what? No. All I know, all we know, is we have a show in three days that is sold out and has been sold out for months, and now you’re cancelling it and refunding everyone?”
“Don’t worry, you’ll be getting your costs back, we won’t -”

“We flew Luke over for this!” he was trying not to sound too mad, but he didn’t understand what was going on. “It’s about more than the costs, Mike, you know that.”
“I know, I know, but we had a threat, and it was about your show, and we did what we had to do but, mate, we had to be sure, and the only way to be sure was to cancel you. You know we love you guys, so much, you’ve done so much for us.” 

“Mike.” he kept his voice as steady as he could, hearing the way the manager’s tone lifted. He was a good guy, really, and he’d done a lot for them over the years. “What threat?”
“One of your regulars reached out to us, Tom. Said they’d had someone say they were going to commit suicide at the show.”

The blood rushed out of his legs. He moved away from the beam, sinking onto the old picnic style bench with it’s cigarette burns and bbq sauce stains. His heart thumped erratically against his adam’s apple as he tried to get the words through his brain.

“You what?” he whispered, words shaking. “You heard that from one of our fans?”
“They said they were a regular, I recognised the name from the ticket sales, always near the top. Tom, I’m sorry, we couldn’t take the risk.”
“Are you fucking serious, Mike? A random threat out of nowhere? You have any proof, anything, or are you just going off the word of one person?”
“We have due diligence, protocols to follow. They told us it was your show.”
“Have you sent -”
“Wellness check? Yeah. But the police don’t tell you how it went, Tom, we have no idea what they found, and lets be honest…”
“The police are fucking useless, yeah, I’m familiar.” 

The anger was fading now and being replaced with a strange feeling of helplessness. That someone would say that. He needed to talk to the moderators on the discord, the regulars, he knew that - had to find out if there was any truth to this whole thing. Yet that low sinking feeling was starting to dig it’s claws in, that anyone would feel like that, would make a threat like that, and if they were going to be doing it anywhere… a room full of people with an idea of what was going on… yeah, it would be bad. It would be fucking horrible, with the stream on, but if they’d just told him, they could have been aware or… something.

“I get it, Mike, you’re just covering your back. Right. Fine. But next time, can you just talk to us first?”
“I don’t know what you want us to do, Tom. We have to take the threat seriously. We have to cover our backs.”
“Did you not consider that, if this threat is real, they still might go through with it? And if they were at the show, then they would be surrounded by people, including people who have medical knowledge, like, I don’t know, Sam’s wife?”
“Look, Tom,” Mike sighed softly, causing the line to rustle. “I know this is shit, but you have to remember; this kind of stuff is going to happen as you guys get bigger.  You can’t take on looking after your fans. You have to protect yourself, your team, first and foremost.”

The words rung in his head. He did trust them. His team. His friends. Something moved in his peripheral, and when he raised his head, he saw Sam leaning in the doorway, puffing in his vape. He lifted an eyebrow, exhaling a cloud of steam as a few misty droplets began to fall from the sky, melding together. With just a tiny shake of his head, he focused back in on the call.

“I know, Mike. Just… thanks for letting us know. We’ll figure it out.”
“Yeah, mate, no worries. Don’t worry; it won’t affect any of your other shows, okay? Just this one. We’ll handle the refunds and all that stuff. Just uh.. Listen. We have the name we were given, we’re going to send it over to your agent, let them do what they want to do with it.”
“That doesn’t violate uh, GDPR, right?”
“No, it was in the first email we got, and we handed the address over to the police off the ticket sales.”
“Right, okay. Well, look, thanks, Mike. Just… try to give us more notice next time.”
“You got basically all the notice we did. Take care, Tom. Give my best to the others.”

He heard the disconnect beep as he lowered the phone to his lap, eyes fixing on the murky brick wall of the building next door. His mind bounced over to the dream he’d had last night. About his scrambling hands fighting against the air and then against the water. The cracking impact against every bone and muscle. The fact he knew, really, that he would have died when he struck the Thames, the fall from such a height into the turbulent waters would have been enough to take him out. The view from halfway down, just a whisper of the terror, but in the dream, he kept sinking. Brown-green water that thickened like sludge as it tightened into his lungs. The reek and the heat from above shocked away. Crushed. Drowning and starving for air and agony -

He had woken up gasping, stumbled into the bathroom, splashed water over his hands and wrists as the coolness managed to calm him. He could feel sweat sticking his hair to his neck and when he looked in the mirror, washed out with the light from the bathroom at three in the morning. He’d felt like a ghost, and fucking looked like one, too. Haunted. But the thing, over and over, the same as before, that feeling of relief. Half way down, the point where he knew you were meant to feel like it was too late, to be reminded of the fact you wanted to live. Sure, yes, he was terrified, but… there was that feeling of freedom. He was falling, and he was free. 

Looking in the mirror, he’d hated that. Hated that hunger in his eyes, that… need. It had left him rattled, again. Worse than before. He couldn’t stop imagining the others reaching out, hands snatching in midair as he tumbled away. All that leg and arm, and yet not tall enough to be saved.

“So,” Sam said, sitting across from him with a thump that rattled the picnic table. He rested the vape on the woodtop, and then copied the movement with an arm. “What’s going on?”
“Someone called in a suicide threat.”
“What?!” Sam exclaimed, eyes snapping wide open, all his casual attitude gone in a second. “A what?” 

“Someone contacted the Murray because they said someone was going to try to attempt suicide at the show. So they cancelled it.” he rubbed at his face, drawing his fingers over his brow line, firm, grounding.

“Oh, my god. Fuck. Seriously? Did they contact them, do we think it’s fake?”
“I don’t know, but it didn’t come from the person directly, apparently. Look, I’m gonna reach out to some of the mods, in the discord, see what they know.” he murmured. “But it means we’ve lost that money, they’re refunding everyone.”
“We’ll need to make a statement of some kind.” Sam murmured. “Shit.”
“Murray’s mostly regulars, at least.” he sighed and leaned back a little as he typed out a message into the rarely used private chat.

The conversation that came back was quick, and it wasn’t good. 

“What are they saying?”
“Shit.” he found the word slipping out as he read over them, two, three times. “Murray’s not lying.”
“You’re serious? It a regular?”
“They didn’t say.” he murmured, “This sucks.” he groaned and shook his head. “I’m trying not to be mad, but I am… I am so fucking angry, Sam. They said they sent the police to whoever it was, to their house. Got the info from the ticket sale.”
“They sent the cops?” Sam wrinkled his nose, a spike of vindication rising in his chest at the validation for his dislike of police in mental health issues.
“They sent the cops.” he agreed. “But they don’t get to hear back, so… they have no idea. Said it was something to do with the insurance or… covering their backs.”
“Wouldn’t look good on us either, to have someone die at a show. And let’s be honest, Tom…”
“I know.” he murmured, that sinking feeling back. Losing someone at a show would be horrific. It would damage… everything. Not just for them and their reputation, but the damage it would do to his mind, constantly watching their audience to see if they were about to drop dead.

“Are you okay?” Sam asked after a moment, and his hand shifted across the table to rest his palm over top of Tom’s hand.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, automatically, although he really wasn’t sure if he… was. His head was almost aching, running around and around with the confirmation, a jackrabbit kicking it’s heels into his skull. They had a show in, christ, just a few short hours, and now he had to be dealing with this. How big a deal was the threat? The chat seemed pretty convinced that they were going to, that it was serious, and with that fact… there was no guarantee that it wasn’t another show. Although they hadn’t officially announced the cancellation of the Murray yet, it wouldn’t take long for that to get out. This show was probably safe, but there were others in the future. The Comedy Store. The fucking Apollo. What if it happened there?

“Tom.” Sam squeezed his hand, firm, “Don’t spiral, mate, don’t slide into that state.”
“Someone wants to die. At our show.” he mumbled. “Sam, how badly are we fucking this if -”
“You know as well as I do that this isn’t our fault. Listen to me. This isn’t our fault. I know much you care, how intensely; that’s a good thing. But we’re kinda making it, Tom. We’re playing the fuckin’ Apollo. We’re… we’re going to have shit like this. If you tangle yourself up in it every time, it’s going to destroy you. I’m not going to watch you do that.” 

“Thanks, Sam.” he whispered, bowing his head just slightly. “Need to shake it off before the show.” he shook his head and huffed between his teeth. “And finish lunch.” he added.
“Ah, yeah, good shout, Luke was eyeing it. Oh shit, okay, we have to tell them.” he added.
“Yyyyyep.” he drew the word between his teeth, “Not great. We’ll manage the financial loss, although it’s not ideal, we have enough and enough big shows coming up to handle it.” he ran his hand through his hair, messing with the quiff.
“Don’t worry, Tom.” Sam patted his hand, and then drew back. “I know you’ve got this. We’re a team, right?”
“Best team in the world.” he smiled right back, and for once, it felt easy.