He was running late for his next interview, he knew, so when his phone rang shrill throughout the hotel room that was a tornado of designer clothing, he groaned. Answering it like he had all intentions of leaving his room within five seconds, he rushed out, "Lane, I know, I'm on my way."
Instead of the snippy voice he expected, he heard a shaky, "Adam," and panic flooded through him. "Adam, just-"
"What happened?" He wasn't the type for playing games and shit, he didn't have the time. Then he heard the line disconnect. Grunting and unsure of what to feel, he tossed his phone and watched it roll off his bed onto the floor. Seconds later, he heard a key slide through the lock, and heard the door open. "Lane?"
When he poked his head from the room to the hall to see her, he was suddenly very sure he didn't want to know what came next. Her face was streaked with tears, and her hair was a mess. Whatever this 'news' was, it was going to do the same to him. "Adam, can you sit down for me?" Adam didn't think, just went with it.
He sat in the middle of the small couch in the room, feeling her follow after. "What's going on? Seriously, don't we have that inter-" She shushed him, taking a deep breath when he fell silent.
"Adam, Tommy," she shook her head slightly when he voice broke on the name. "Tommy was found this morning in his apartment. By Mike. He committed suicide last night, Adam." Adam suddenly felt blood rushing in his ears. No. Not Tommy. Not him, no. Never.
"You're joking." Adam snapped. "You're fucking with me."
"No, honey, I wish I was. He was dead before Mike could do anything, Adam, I'm so sorry." With one simple sentence, Adam broke. He leaned forward, face in his hands. He felt sick, felt his world sharking around him. Why? Why Tommy? Lane wrapped him up in her arms, tears pecking her own eyes.
They cried for hours over the small, blonde bassist they both loved so dearly.
–
As it turns out, Tommy had been feeling depressed for over a year now. His doctors knew, and he even had a psychiatrist. But Adam was never told of this. Tommy didn't want him to know, didn't want to have that "protective figure" keeping him from doing whatever he wanted – or so says his shrink.
He even had a prescription of anti-depressants. And if Adam had known, Tommy wouldn't have been allowed to stop taking them a month back. He would have been the over-protective boyfriend who pissed off his lover, but at least Tommy would have been alive.
–
Death is a strange thing, if one really takes a step back to look at it. One person, gone forever, leaving behind all these things. Death is a pretty easy and simple concept. A heart that stops beating, a brain that stops stimulating. All of it done. Funerals, burial. It's all easy – every time is the same, just with a different beginning.
Sitting in a funeral home for Tommy's wake, Adam didn't know what to feel. Sadness, of course. Negativity. He knew Tommy wouldn't have wanted everyone to be crying – tears were never his thing, and they were probably never his intention. That, though, didn't matter much. Because Adam – always the strong one – was now lying across a row of chairs with his head in his mother's lap. Her finger carded through his limp, lifeless hair.
Adam was wearing a suit, though it was wrinkled and rumpled and the pants were too short. He hadn't had the motivation to get it fitted. What did it matter, anyway? His eyes were closed all throughout the service, and he took a deep breath at the end when his mother had whispered for him to get up. He walked up to the casket first, though.
There he was, his pretty little Tommy. His hair was fluffy and soft – the way Adam liked. His face peaceful...happy. Raising his hand, Adam ran a thumb across a cold cheek. "I love you, Tommy." And the fact that there would never be a response was what finally broke his control. A sob rupturing through, he kissed the forehead of his love, then ran.
He'd never been much of a runner. Hated it, actually. But this wasn't a run, this was an adrenaline fueled escape from reality. He didn't know where he was going. Not home. He just needed to not be there. He needed to be away from this situation before it ate him away.
–
Three hours later found him shitfaced and high as a kite in some bar in some town that he didn't even care to know the name of. He knew better than to fuck around with anything other than weed, but he didn't give a flying fuck. What was the point of staying alive and healthy if he was bound to die eventually? Downing another shot, he looked around the spinning room slowly.
"Adam?" He knew that to be the voice of his brother. "Adam, how stoned are you?"
"Not stoned enough," he grumbled, pushing Neil out of the way. The insistent hand on his arm stopped him from going anywhere though. "Get the fuck off me." He could see straight, but he knew Neil was somewhere in his area even after the hand was released. "Go away. Go home. Go live your perfect god damn life and just leave me the fuck alone." Adam could vaguely heard Neil and the bar owner talking before he was being lifted and carried slightly outside. Not without protest, of course, flailing of legs and such.
Then, before he even realized it, he was closing his eyes and he was out.
–
The next seven days were a blur to Adam. Between being high and drunk, and any other responsibilities he had, he didn't remember when he'd even last ate. But that morning, he sat in a coffee shop – one Tommy and Adam had zero history in, of course – across from his baby brother. "We're worried about you, Ad."
"Why? I'm a grown man, I know what I'm doing."
"But you don't. You're either drunk or high whenever anyone talks to you and you keep crying. Adam, I know this is hard for you. It's hard on everyo-"
"Don't you fucking dare say this has had any affect on you!" Heads whipped around to stare, but the furious singer didn't seem to notice. "You don't know what it's like to be alone. To know that the one person you could tell everything to suddenly isn't there and never will be again. You have no fucking idea, Neil, so don't you dare sit and say you do." Adam spat.
Neil took a deep breath, regaining what little willpower he had left to not throttle his elder sibling. He knew Adam was upset, fuck, he was allowed to be. But he was being dangerous and reckless, and that was a whole different thing from being sad.
"Adam, you're my big brother. And I care about you, and I'm worried that you don't know what you're getting yourself into. You're right, I have no clue what you're going through. But I do know that Tommy wouldn-"
"Don't." It was a weak warning.
"He wouldn't want this for you. He wouldn't want you hurting yourself. Yes, you have every right to be sad and upset and mopey and furious. But you can't do this to yourself. I refuse to let you." He watched as Adam stood and walked outside, throwing his Styrofoam cup in the trash on the way. Neil followed, stuffing his hands in his pockets and leaning against the wall next to his brother.
"I miss him." Adam was staring at his beat up shoes. "I miss running my fingers through his hair to help him sleep. I miss just talking to him. I miss his tattoos, and watching those stupid ass horror movies with him. I miss watching him get uncomfortable whenever I brought him places." He shook his head. "I miss everything about him, Neil, and I can never see him again."
Neil figured it was best to stay quiet. He couldn't help, but he could listen. So for an hour, he stood outside that coffee place and heard stories he already knew from his unsteady big brother. Then, when Adam fell silent, Neil spoke. "Adam...did you ever think of maybe seeing a psychologist for any of this? They would listen. They would know what to do. But you can't keep going on how you are, it's not good for you."
"Tommy-"
"Would want you to do whatever is best for you. Do you want to end up like him? Do you want more people to feel how you do?" Adam shook his head. "Promise me you'll be safe and you'll look for a way to feel better about this."
"I promise. For Tommy."