Fic: il Coma

[mjartrod]

Title: il Coma
Pairing: Matt/ ?
Rating: R
Warnings: Slash and Drugs. Effects of drug usage here could be more accurate, but then I couldn’t have included a couple other elements.
Disclaimers: Fiction, of course. English is not my first language, big thanks to Anya for beta work! :D
Summary: The Resistance tour, last gig of 2009 before SNL. Plotless, it’s a small episode after Matt's break-up.

Seattle, 2009

The mass of bodies inside the club undulated sinuously, appearing no more than deformed and distorted shadows digitally manipulated with advanced software. It was blue everywhere he looked, different shades. It was like observing the large room, crammed with people, through blue tinted glasses. Everything ran in slow motion, the beat of the music usually pumping inside his chest distant and muffled now. Women threw him alluring smiles as he walked by them, sipping their drinks, sucking on the straws in their glasses. There were giggles, a bolder greeting voiced here and there. There was an occasional brush on his arm, on his shoulder, on his lower back as he went by. Every action laced with invitation. No one had tried to stop him yet, though he knew it wouldn’t be long before it happened.

Some faces were slightly familiar, a few no doubt promoters he had already been introduced to at the WaMu Theater, where they'd headlined the radio show. Let others handle it. Not likely to be Dom, currently leaning against a pillar, flirty smile and pose firmly in place. Surrounded by women, not one of them capable of hiding the excitement of being in his company, he was in his natural element.

“You guys were awesome, Matt! Can’t wait to see you with your own show next year!”

Someone patted his back enthusiastically, a sweaty face tinged blue in the light as well. He heard himself replying ‘cheers’, his lips automatically moving to form the word, the guy raising his bottle in a toast.  
 

His legs continued driving him in auto-pilot mode to the bar but his path was suddenly obstructed. The body he had just bumped into was solid and it didn’t budge; when he looked up, his eyes landed on another blue skinned face, which returned the stare intensely. The man took a swig of his beer, all the while never looking away from Matt, a smirk on his face. Almost scornful. 
 

“Got lost?” He pointed with the bottle to the more crowded area that Matt had just crossed where the blurry shadows danced and twirled. A fair few still gazed longingly after him. “You can find them over there.” The man’s voice was deep, a lazy drawl that made his skin prickle, his arms and neck itching underneath the fabric of his heavy grey coat. “Not that you need to move an inch either way, you’ll have them here soon enough, begging for attention. No wait, that would be why you are here.” 
 

Taken aback, Matt opened his mouth, intending to tell him to piss off, but upon seeing the man’s lip curling up in satisfaction, he chose to censor himself and just move on before he uttered a sound. He was in no mood to deal with tossers having a go at him. However, he found himself colliding with the same obstacle, the sturdy frame purposely blocking his way and this time he reacted without thinking. He pushed him with both hands, looking up defiantly and careless of the man’s bigger stature, the way his tight indigo t-shirt fitted him giving away that he probably spent as many hours in a gym as Matt did on stage. Stepping back with a barely noticeable stumble, the man was now eyeing Matt head to toe, as if sizing him up. 
 

“Chill out dude, just having a bit of fun.” The amused expression stamped on his face hadn’t disappeared. “You look like you could use a good time. I could show you.” Matt had already been turning to leave, determined not to let it get to him, but he stopped in his tracks, for some reason the sly words cutting into him like needles. The Corona bottle was tilted in the air, the man taking another sip, licking his lips afterwards and again scrutinising Matt up and down before boldly staring the singer in the eye, cocking his head a little to the side. “I would do you.”
 

“You and half the people in here,” Matt deadpanned.
 

He laughed. “My,” he grinned, showing his teeth. “I’m tempted to say there isn’t anyone here who would refuse if given the option.” He took a step closer. “But I'm sure you know that and you wouldn’t have it any other way. It’s your after party, you’re supposed to be worshipped.” The smirk was back. “So who selected the lucky candidates to win a charitable fuck?” 
 

“You would know,” he quipped. “You’re here, aren’t you?”
 

“Touché. But I’ve got no short skirt, no tits, no hair,” he ran one hand on top of his head, showing off his buzz cut, short blond hair barely detectable. “So maybe I just crashed the party.” Another sip.

“Maybe I should get you booted out.” 
 

“You’re not gonna do that.”

“Oh, yeah? And why‘s that?”
 

“Because I’m the only person here you’re interested in chatting to.”

It was Matt’s turn to laugh, rubbing one eye with his hand. Where had this wanker come from? “Oh right, why didn’t I think of that? And you’re a mind-reading therapist, are you?”


“I’m a DJ, if you want to know. And you look like you want to be anywhere but here. Why, I haven’t got a clue. Not that it’s any of my business, of course.” He shook the bottle in the air, noting its emptiness. Matt remained silent, a more intent and intrigued look on his face. “Shame. Why do they have to make these so small, eh?”
 

He walked past Matt, leaving the singer standing there, but then stopped and addressed him again. 
 

“Well? Aren’t you coming? Come on, I’ll get you a drink.” And he extended his right hand with a smile. Matt furrowed his brow in puzzlement but after a moment he tentatively lifted his and they shook hands. “Nice to meet you, I’m Shawn.” 
 

*** 
 

Sitting on stools by the counter, they both drank, exchanging impressions on the music scene in Seattle these days, in between the interruptions of people coming over to chat to Matt or ask for an autograph or picture. Shawn didn’t know much about alternative rock or rock in general, house and trance were his world. It was a wonder to Matt how he had even recognised them at all, or even heard of the band. 
 

“My cousin’s been living in Europe for awhile,” he explained. “He saw you live in Rome a few years back. Said you’re the only band in the world that could bring the Coliseum down.”

Matt peered into his glass. He could now see the bottom again and not for the first time he wondered if they sometimes made them with holes. “We played this old arena once in Verona... I think that was the closest to the Coliseum we've ever got. Didn’t come down, though.”
 

“Hey, sweetheart,” Shawn beckoned the waitress, motioning towards their drinks. Matt’s gaze followed the brunette, eyes drawn to the round arse in the low cut jeans she wore and the small sparkly waistcoat that didn’t leave much to the imagination. Her long hair shone as she worked and she smiled when she placed another glass in front of Matt, her high cheekbones standing out. 
 

“Pretty thing, isn’t she?” He heard Shawn casually commenting by his side when she left to attend to someone else. “She reminds me of someone.”
 

“Yeah.”

“Megan Fox.”
 

Matt’s hand stilled around his glass; he hadn’t thought of Megan Fox at all. 
 

“Trust me, you ain’t got a fucking chance.” Matt arched an eyebrow towards his companion, snapped out of his reverie. “Boyfriend is three times your size,” he added, taking out a box of Marlboros and lighting one. “Don Juan over there,” he motioned in Dom’s direction with the cigarette, blowing out the first puff of smoke. The blond drummer was on the dancefloor with two girls, the three appearing very intimate. “Maybe he’d have a chance.”
 

The singer took his first sip of yet another vodka tonic, somehow not feeling as insulted as he probably should be. There was smoke spiralling in the air in front of him, and he glanced aside to realise that Shawn was observing him with a peculiar gleam in his eye as he took another drag.
 

“Want one?” He offered, sliding the pack over the counter in his direction. There weren’t many left.
 

Matt only shook his head. Then there was a hand covering his knee and his eyes instantly dropped to it, wordlessly. 
 

“You haven't told me yet,” Shawn leaned closer, fingers lightly squeezing the joint. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
 

Matt fidgeted on the stool in annoyance, and the hand was back on the counter. Wasn’t that bloody obvious? He was the front man of a successful band. They had just put on a great performance and they were throwing an after party.

And he was single. 
 

“What do you think I’m doing here?”

“You got this place full of women who would queue to bed you, yet you’ve politely ignored everyone who's come to you. Instead you’re just sitting here getting drunk while I take digs at you.” He flicked the ash to the floor. “You’re either stupid or you really like my company.” Matt’s heart gave a jolt and his hand tightened around his glass. “I don’t think you’re stupid.”
 

“I don’t give a toss about what you think,” he scoffed. 
 

“I think you’re hot.”
 

For fuck’s sake. “Stop trying to wind me up. If you want a bird, there’re plenty to choose from, go ahead. I’m sure Dom can handle the competition.” He could see from the corner of his eye Shawn stubbing out the cigarette in an ashtray, that infuriating smirk still there. 
 

“No offense but I get better hookers a block away from my apartment.” Matt sensed him pulling closer again and he felt his own skin flushing when warm breath was blown against his neck. “But I wouldn’t say no to you.” A shiver ran down his spine and he sat up straight on his stool; it took him a moment to realise that it had been caused by Shawn’s finger tracing down his back over his white t-shirt.
 

“Drop it, I’m not into that shit.”
 

“Then why don’t you tell me what kind of shit you’re into.”
 

“Nothing you can help me with. Cheers.” 
 

Matt grabbed his coat and stepped off the stool, nearly losing his balance when his feet hit the floor. Enough of people trying to fuck with his head. He made his way through the crowd, firmly avoiding eye contact with anyone; what was he thinking, he should have gone straight to the hotel. He could be dozing off to some shitty film on telly. 
 

There was a sudden strong grip around his wrist and before he knew it, he was face to face with Shawn. The taller blond dipped his head closer, wetting his lips before advancing on Matt again. 
 

“Don’t you fucking. Dare,” Matt hissed. 
 

His back hit the cold wall, knocking the wind out of him, Shawn removing his hands from his arms and pinning him there with his gaze.
 

“You don’t fool me, I know exactly what you need.”
 

“Are you bloody mental?” His blood was rushing through his veins, adrenaline kicking in, his heart pumping as if he were on stage. 
 

“You’re here because you don’t have anywhere else to be,” he whispered, the deep drawl only barely audible above the music. “And I’m the only one who can make you forget that.”
 

Matt wanted to punch the cocky, meddlesome bastard, to say something witty, even to simply look away and leave. Anything but feeling shaky, hollow, his vision unfocused, seeing through the body in front of him. He tried to swallow the knot in his throat, but it seemed permanently stuck there. 
 

“I’m gonna go now,” Shawn began. “But first, I’m going to tell you exactly where you’re gonna meet me.”
 

***
 

One hand fidgeting in the pocket of his coat, Matt cautiously tried the handle with the other. Unlocked. Just as he was told it would be. He spared a last glance at the narrow hallway the exit next to the bar counter had led him to only seconds ago, several store rooms to be found. 
 

He knew he was tipsy; he couldn't not be after five (or was it six?) vodka tonics. But he hadn’t yet reached the point where he didn’t give a flying fuck to all consequences, so when he heard laughter carrying from a short distance away, and before he could be spotted, the singer opened the door in front of him, peeking inside. He couldn't see much at first but overcoming his hesitation, he stepped into the dimly lit room, closing the door behind him. Complete silence followed, only the thumping of his own heart clear to his ears. 
 

Scanning the space, he could make out the contours of an old sound desk in the corner, chairs, a large couch. But it was on the pool table in the centre of the room that his eyes settled, one of the lamps directly above it providing the only source of light. An empty bottle on the wide wooden side rail appeared forgotten.

Before he could turn around to see what else, who else, there was in the shade behind him, he was enveloped by a musky scent, something soft dropping over his face. Instinctively reaching to his eyes to remove the fabric, his arms tensed when he recognised the deep voice in his ear. 
 

“No, don’t take it off.”
 

“I don’t trust you.” He didn’t let go of the material, the quick breaths behind him moving down to his neck. 
 

“I never asked you to.” 
 

The blindfold was wrapped tightly around his head, a soft peck placed on the side of his neck making his stomach flutter. And then again when his coat was pulled down his shoulders and flung aside, the swoosh making the hair on Matt’s forearms stand up. 
 

Shawn’s heavy hand rested on his left shoulder, massaging. “Nervous?” It shifted across to Matt’s neck, reaching around his throat and smothering the singer’s attempt at a reply as fingers splayed over tender skin, circling over his Adam’s apple. His head was tipped backwards almost gently. “It’s not the first time you've done this,” he breathed.
 

Matt was blindly spun around, arms hanging rigidly by his sides, and without warning there were hard bare lips assaulting his. Applying a pressure he wasn’t used to, coaxing his mouth to open, a wet tongue wiping his lower lip before shoving its way down his throat. He broke out in a light sweat, feeling suffocated, the stifling mouth devouring him, consuming him, as Shawn clutched him by the back of his neck and angled his head as he pleased for better access. 
 

“Not bad,” the American pulled at his lower lip with his teeth before stepping away. “Not bad at all.” Matt tried to regain some perception of what surrounded him, a sour aftertaste lingering on his tongue, mildly aware that Shawn was fiddling with something. And then the strong hand was back on his neck. “Swallow.”
 

“What-” Unable to finish as his mouth was again attacked by Shawn’s, Matt almost gagged when he felt an intruding object smuggled inside. He tried to step back, push the taller man away, but he was held fast, words whispered against his lips. 
 

“I want you to relax and enjoy,” Shawn rubbed up and down his arms. He felt cold. “Get rid of all this tension. Just swallow.”
 

Matt twirled his tongue around the unpleasant tasting tablet and broke free, spitting it out into one hand as he harshly removed the blindfold with the other. “The fuck is this?” There was a little yellow pill on his palm and he rolled it with his finger, glaring at the American. He could see dilated pupils, features darkened by the angle of the low light above the pool table. “I’m not doing E.” 
 

“Wait,” his hand stretched out to grab Matt’s wrist before he could turn to leave. “It’s not E.” His fingers curled around Matt’s hand, closing it, the pill kept in the shell. “I’m not giving you stimulants, don’t think you ever need those, do you.” Matt forced himself to look away, the piercing grip on his upper arm closing the gap between their bodies again and bringing them nearer. “Ever done K...?” Shawn searched for Matt’s eyes, the singer now staring at his own hand guardedly and then back to the blond. “Ketamine.”
 

“I’ll eat shrooms if I want hallucinogens, not dodgy anaesthetics.“ 
 

“It’s a very low dose, it won’t have a paralysing effect. But it’s enough to relax your body and shut off your brain, there’s no pain...” The yellow tablet was revealed again as he slowly opened Matt’s hand. “You can step away from yourself and get a new perspective...” 
 

“I know what it is, it’s synthetic shit.” 
 

Shawn picked up the small object, holding it between his thumb and forefinger in front of Matt’s narrowed eyes. “It’s a spiritual trip, a chance to see the world in a different way.” His hand rested on Matt’s chest, sliding down. “Fucking on K is incredible...”
 

Matt pushed the provocative hand away, jaw clenched, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. “Is this the same thing that you took..?” 
 

He smirked. “You know it’s not. I’m not tricking you, this is K. Unless you want meth...” 
 

They faced each other for a long second, almost in a staring contest. Matt broke away first to focus on the tablet again, the face carved on the yellow surface smiling up at him. Fuck it. “How long?” He finally asked in a low voice.
 

“Starts working within a few minutes, won’t last more than one hour, maybe ninety minutes.” 
 

The thrill Matt’s acquiescence had caused in Shawn was virtually palpable to the singer and this time he didn’t fight when the other man placed the pill between his lips, slowly pushing it past the feeble resistance, forefinger slipping in with it and touching the tip of his tongue. And then Matt closed his eyes, throat burning as he swallowed the offering. 
 

He was struck by a whirlwind, forced to stumble backwards until his bum hit something solid, eyes widening and head whipping around to see the pool table right behind him. Shawn had already grabbed the wooden rail each side of Matt, trapping him there, and lunged forward to claim his mouth again, forcing the singer to lean backwards. The wood dug sharply into his flesh, a large hand spreading out on his back, stroking up and down. 
 

“Come on... come on...” he urged, Matt responding weakly. 
 

He was sweating, t-shirt sticking to his skin as he struggled not to be squashed against the wood, the blond pushing so hard against Matt as he sloppily sucked on his tongue, that the singer couldn't ignore the bulge pressed against his thigh anymore. 
 

“Turn around... turn around and bend over.”
  

He was twirling him around roughly, Matt unable to stop himself from looking over his shoulder, taking in the feverish, blazing eyes. 
 

“I said, bend over the fucking table. Now.” 
 

Face down on the dusty green baize with his palms flat on the table to brace himself, Matt squeezed his eyes shut as the smooth cloth became harsh on his cheek. The American was rubbing his back, between his shoulder blades, long sweeping motions up and down. “Fuck me, I like this sight...” 
 

In a slow upwards motion he bunched Matt’s white t-shirt up to his neck, cool air almost stinging in contact with his exposed damp skin. Shawn buried his face in the curve of his back and Matt felt rather than heard the deep low humming vibrating against his body, his heart rate quickening frighteningly. He could hear his own voice coming out as a strangled moan when the moist tongue began licking from the base of his spine upwards. Taking its time, sucking on bump by bump.
 

“Fuuuck...” the tip of Shawn’s nose delved deeper into the skin. “The way you smell...” 
 

Matt’s body temperature was out of control, the tingle in the pit of his stomach increasing. Gladly twisting out of the maddening t-shirt when Shawn pulled it above his head, the singer was panting for more, the hand on his lower back applying pressure to keep him firmly in place, the teeth nipping at the back of his neck and the erection rubbing against his thigh not enough. And then Shawn’s hand was around his throat again, roughly tilting his chin up and he could see the cue sticks rack against the wall in front of them. There was growling in his ear, a relentless tongue wetting a straight path along his jaw, to finally cover his mouth. Matt bit him back, propping his elbows on the table’s surface for leverage as he pushed backwards to meet Sean’s body, gasping for breath against his light stubble. He was burning, he wanted this, he wanted all of it. He wanted to forget, he wanted to fuck until he could no longer remember his own name. 
 

Shawn’s hands began exploring new territory, his palm pressing on Matt’s stomach, rubbing in circles and making him squirm, each circling motion reaching lower, fingers soon peeking underneath his waistband. Matt yanked his mouth away from Shawn’s for air, his neck cracking and he groaned, nails scratching the velvety green cloth when the thick arm around his waist hauled him backwards to leave room for the other hand to sneak lower.
 

He was groping him firmly through his trousers, Matt grabbing onto the rail when his head swayed suddenly and violently. Shoved down on the pool table again, he felt Shawn spreading his legs apart with his knee, nearly lying on top of him, grinding against his arse. And well past the point of caring if he might look like a cheap slut, he pushed back in time with his thrusts. 
 

“That’s it...” Shawn rasped, squeezing one buttock hard, fingers starting to travel downwards. 
 

Forehead resting on the baize, Matt focused on the friction and the grazing on his skin as he was rubbed thoroughly between his legs. He felt strangely cooler, heart beating slower now. The wild hand kept wandering, making his entire body sway back and forth at its pace but it wasn’t touching him, it wasn’t reaching him anymore. 
 

When Shawn pulled away and the heat of the lamp above hit Matt’s back fully, though, it was as strong as sunlight. With his eyes closed it could pass for the sun. Powerful beaming rays in his face too when he rolled over, the towel now tickling his back. No, he blinked, it wasn’t a towel and he wasn’t by the swimming pool; it was the cloth of the pool table, it was the pill. Sean’s face was above his, red and feral, swollen veins on his neck, and he was lifting Matt and pulling him on top of the table, his bum resting on the rail now and his legs dangling above the floor. 
 

The blond was shirtless, the muscles of his upper body huge, so defined. They looked like mountains. He was leaving noisy slobbering kisses down his chest as he worked on Matt’s belt, swirling his tongue in his navel and muttering something unintelligible when he opened his fly. Matt knew those mountains. He knew them and he would go mental if he couldn't remember where from. He had a vague impression that his trousers were pulled down and through a cloudy haze he saw Shawn’s head and his own dick in close proximity, just before letting his eyes fall shut. It was such a bloody effort to keep them open and why, if he didn’t really need to see and he was weightless and floating. So light under the sun. He let his head drop to the side, his back arching off the table, an injection of intense pleasure in the back of his mind. 
 

Of course he knew the mountains. It was the view he had across the lake. He knew them as well as the palm of his hand, so many times he had rode his black horse up and down the road. 
 

***

 

Dom liked to tease. He enjoyed seeing the reactions he got. He was good at it too. But being teased the right way was almost as good. Sprawled in the booth at the club, spreadeagled in his already too tight trousers and fighting to keep his hand off his crotch, he was currently being presented with his own private porn show: the two filthy birds that had moved from his lap not long ago were currently kissing and fondling each other on the seat next to him. It was a private show that promised a climactic ending in his hotel room. 
 

Looking away from the duet for a moment to see if he could find anyone to bring them more alcohol, he unexpectedly spotted Matt. It had been so long since he had last seen him, he had been positive that the singer had been messing around with someone and left. Pity he was wrong. Matt was wobbling along, somehow still wearing that gigantic coat, one hand on the side of his head; he seemed completely oblivious to his surroundings. Dom couldn't help but giggle. But Dom was a good friend, he didn’t mind sharing. And Matt sure had been in dire need of some proper entertainment lately with all the drama in his love life. He whistled as loud as he could, waved from his seat and no, Matt hadn’t seen him, but someone next to him had and they were pointing towards the booth and steering Matt in the right direction. His band mate’s brown hair was sticking in all directions as he hadn’t seen it in awhile. 
 

“Where’ve you been? Thought you had-“ Dom paused, blinking when he noticed his front man’s state. Not only was he awfully unstable on his feet, he was bleary eyed and pale as a ghost as well. “What are... what are you- doing!!” 
 

Matt had plopped himself on Dom’s lap, knees sliding each side of Dom’s thighs and clamping on to him like a vise, face on his shoulder. Dom went wide eyed, acutely aware of the not so light weight pressing down on his crotch and normally he wouldn’t complain about having an arse there but... 
 

“Jesus, get off, you twat...” he tried to push him, flustered against his will. “Get off me! What the fuck are you on?”
 

He glanced sideways to the girls, hoping they weren’t getting any misleading hint that they were supposed to leave; but he found their eyes wandering heatedly over the two of them, at Matt straddling his lap, his hands on Matt’s shoulders trying to push him off. Dom grinned at the pair, momentarily forgetting about his band mate, until his attention was again caught by the low voice against his shoulder. 
 

“What?” He was straining to hear what Matt was saying. Or trying to say, words jumbled and slurred. “Can’t hear you.” He leaned closer to his mouth. “What’s that? Christ, you’re making even less sense than usual.” Glancing at both girls again, Dom winked at them, making sure their interest hadn’t waned one bit. 
 

Matt was losing his grip on the cushions of the booth behind Dom’s back though and started slipping, landing hard on his arse on the floor before Dom could catch him, his head leaning against the drummer’s knees. Dom sobered up a little and bent at the waist, trying to get a look at Matt’s face. “Matt.” He called. “Hey...” He turned his face up to him, but it was as though the blue eyes were moving sightlessly. He started coughing and... 
 

“Ewww!” 
 

The girls’ voices formed a high pitched chorus in perfect unison and Dom scrunched up his nose, mouth twisting at the sight of the pile of puke on the floor. And on his Converse.
 

“Shit.” 
 

***
 

Matt had no idea what time it was when he woke up or what part of the world was he supposed to be at; he was so disorientated that it took him awhile before he could figure he was lying in a bed. Even squinting turned out to be a bad option, the glare that came from the window instantly blinding him. Fucking hell. His head was pounding, he felt nauseous and his whole body was sore. 
 

He dragged himself out of the bed, head throbbing even more at the effort and with every motion he made. He frowned when he saw a case on the floor. That one definitely wasn’t his. There was also a soft noise in the background, was that the telly? He most likely wasn’t alone. More alert and looking around for his clothes, as he was only wearing boxers, he saw his coat on the back of a chair. And as he walked towards it, he noticed Dom’s watch on the bedside table. Relief. 
 

The door to the living area was half-open so he squeezed through the gap soundlessly, leaning his head on the door frame. Dom was fully dressed and clean shaven, sitting on the couch with one leg crossed over the other, watching what looked like some sort of wildlife or nature documentary on TV. It took him a few seconds to notice Matt and when he did, he only glanced up and down his frame, eyes then returning to the screen.
 

“What the hell am I doing in your room?”
 

“You’re welcome.” The drummer didn’t bother to turn away from the TV.
 

Matt scratched his head in silence and bit his lip, cringing at the dull pain and taking a hand to his mouth to check for any wounds, looking behind him into the bedroom again. The night before...

“By the way.” 
 

He was startled by Dom’s voice, immediately turning to him again and deciding he needed an aspirin, his head was killing him. The blond was observing his own fingernails. 
 

“Thanks for ruining my night. Instead of coming back for a good fuck, I had to leave the club alone to drag your sorry arse to the hotel.”
 

“So that’s why you’re all pissy then,” Matt muttered. “Did I ruin your marathon for the Guinness Book? How many months in a row of one bird per night, that is?”
 

“There were two last night. You also ruined my silver Converse, they’re covered in puke.” 
 

He ruffled his hair, fiddled with the waistband of his boxers. His stomach lurched as scattered images from the previous night came to his mind. He reckoned he remembered enough. Didn’t he? 
 

“Did I... did I say anything last night?”
 

Dom stared at him for a long moment, his expression annoyingly inscrutable. “You said a lot of things. But apparently you were in Como and got lost in a desert. There was glass melting around you, you were melting too. And horses that were aliens.” He focused on the telly again, scratching his chin. “Don’t think that’s quite what happened last night, though,” he added as an afterthought.
 

Matt felt his cheeks burning. “Fuck off, you’re one to talk.”
 

“What, did I say anything?”
 

That angelic tone of voice, that pretence of innocence drove him mad. “You could have dropped me at my room.”
 

“And that’s what I was gonna do, until we got to our floor and you didn’t have your key card with you. And sod it, like I was gonna go down to the reception again to ask for one, it was enough of a chore to bring you up.” There was a heavy silence, only the TV in the background playing the end credits of the documentary. Dom let out a sigh and his head dropped forward; when he spoke again he wasn’t as edgy. “I also didn’t know what you took... didn’t think it was a good idea to leave you by yourself.” 
 

Matt thought that the carpet that covered the floor had a very interesting pattern. “He said... he said it was ketamine. I think I might have taken something more. I’m not sure.” 
 

Dom looked up carefully, creases on his forehead. “He?”
 

His cue to leave. Matt shrugged and turned around.
 

“Matt?” The singer stopped, his back stiff. “Just... pull yourself together, mate.” 
 

The TV was switched off and there were footsteps, Dom’s, as he walked across the room and opened the door. “I’m going down for breakfast. Have a shower and get dressed. I’ll bring you a key to your room when I’m back.” 
 

“You don’t have to,” Matt mumbled, unable to face his band mate. “I’ll ask Anderson.”
 

“And let him see you like that? I don’t think so.” He was already leaving but then Matt could see from the corner of his eye the blond head poking inside the room again; there was a small smile on his lips. “And brush your teeth.” 
 

He left, Matt’s shoulders sagging the second he finally found himself alone. He tentatively blew a breath into his hand and sniffed. He hated it when Dom was right. 
 

Looking around the bedroom, it was now ridiculously obvious that those were Dom’s things he hadn’t immediately recognised only minutes ago when he got up. Everything was packed already, except for a pair of black jeans and a t-shirt neatly folded on a chair. His own clothes weren’t anywhere to be seen. However, his iPhone was next to Dom’s watch on the bedside table. He was already making a move to grab it, there might be a missed call, a new text or maybe an email... but then he stopped himself. 
 

No.  
 

It was over. 
 

And there it was, that tightness in his chest, so familiar as of late. 
 

He closed his eyes and took one, two deep breaths. It would go away. Maybe the next day he would wake up and it would be gone. It was only a matter of time. He only needed a little longer.

Just a little longer.   

_____________________________________________ 

Note:

Don’t know if you made the connection, but you could say that Matt’s hallucinations were partly based on this