Pick Up the Pieces

Alex woke up to a certain smell. Well, it was actually a mixture of scents varying in between sweat, sex, and burnt pancakes. He shoved his face further into the pillow, only to find his nose buried in somebody’s hair. His mind reeled as he tried to remember who he brought home last night. He contemplated looking at whoever it was, but the idea of opening his eyes was painful. He silently cursed himself for drinking so much; you’d think he would’ve learned his lesson after years of hangovers, but no. He carefully moved his hands around, letting them trace over the sleeping figure beside him. Bushy eyebrows… a long nose… soft lips… stubbly chin… a flat chest… sharp ribs poking through skin stretched over them. The realization that he had brought home a man with him struck oddly, as he couldn’t remember anything from the night before.

He felt cramped and tried to roll over so he wasn’t suffocated by the person beside him, but the next thing he knew he was tilting over a sharp edge and falling off the bed. He collapsed on the hard floor surprised that the fall had been so long. Last time he checked, the bed wasn’t very high off the floor. Alex felt stupid as he rubbed at his eyes, finally opening them slightly. He slowly registered the tile flooring, the tall bunks. What the fuck?! Why were there bunks? He slowly crawled across the floor, grabbing onto a counter and pulling himself up as he swayed lightly. He staggered over to the bunk he had fallen from, feeling sick as he realized that this was the band’s tour bus. He opened the curtain sharply, inhaling too much air and choking on his breath as he saw the person lying inside. It was Jack Barakat.

Alex closed the curtain again, certain that everything he had eaten last night was going to come back up any minute. He stumbled into the front lounge, leaning against a wall.

“Good morning sunshine! Or um, y’know, good afternoon.” Rian appeared out of nowhere, smiling brightly with a cup of coffee held in his hand.

“R-Rian?” He looked so young. Just like the last time Alex had seen him.

The shorter man eyed Alex. “Yeah bro, that’s me. You alright?”

“I-I think I’m h-having a really weird dr-dream.” He stuttered, the headache growing stronger every minute.

“No Alex, I think you drank too much. I can assure you that you are awake and that you’re just suffering from a really bad hangover. I’m gonna go get you some advil, you look green.” With that the drummer walked away, leaving Alex.

He felt bile rise from his stomach as he stumbled to the bathroom, collapsing beside the toilet bowl. He pushed back his hair as he retched up everything he had eaten in the past twenty-four hours. His body shook violently as he fell back onto the cool tile, wiping his mouth. If this was a dream, then it sure as hell was the most realistic nightmare he had ever woken up into.

He lay there for a bit until Rian knocked on the door.

“Hey, you alive in there? I got your medicine.”

“O-one sec.” He croaked, as he held onto the sink, pulling himself up. When he looked into the mirror, however, he wished he had never gotten up.

If only he could say that he simply looked sick and disgusting. Yes, he did. But he also looked young. He looked twenty again. Not the twenty-seven year old he went to bed as last night, but the awkward twenty year old he had been seven years ago. He grasped his face, shrieking loudly, as he took in the long caramel locks with notes of blonde, the softer jaw line, the light stubble. He noted the lack of the skull tattoo he had gotten behind his ear, seeing only the skeleton coloring the inside of his arm. He was shorter, his body slimmer, a significant lack of muscle.

Rian was banging on the door, as voices sprang up outside the bathroom door. “Alex, what the hell is going on in there?!”

Alex turned to the door, opening it as he slowly regained movement. The entire bad and crew was staring at him, waiting, their faces painted with annoyance and worry.

“I. Am. Twenty. Again.” Alex stated, his teeth clenched as he fought the urge to collapse.

“You went to sleep last night and you were twenty Alex.”

“No. This is a goddamn dream! When I went to bed last night I was fucking twenty-seven and All Time Low had long since broken up and I didn’t speak to any of you and you all hated me.”

Jack stepped forward then, lightly grabbing the boy’s wrist and pulling him past everybody and into the back lounge. Alex could hear the whispers behind them as Jack sat him down on the couch, wrapping an arm around him.

“Alex, are you okay?”

The shorter boy then took a moment to look at Jack, examining his features. He hadn’t changed the slightest, his hair still filled with blond streaks, his face still young and innocent.

“J-Jack.” He whispered as he ran his fingers along the boy’s cheekbones, then outlined his lips. “This is the worst dream ever.”

“Why?” Jack asked, honestly curious, momentarily ignoring the fact that Alex thought it was a dream.

“Because. Because when I wake up, I’ll be twenty-seven again and you’ll hate me. You hate me Jack, I don’t even remember why. I just know that you do and we don’t speak. The band is broken up and I’m miserable. And I’m going to wake up and miss you that much more.” His eyes filled with tears as he thought about how fucked-up his life was.

Jack rubbed circles into his arms soothingly. “Lex, shhhh, it’s okay. This isn’t a dream. I promise. This is real life and I’m not going anywhere. And you’re twenty, your birth certificate proves that. We’re on tour with You Me At Six right now and in a few hours you’ll be on stage singing your heart out like usual.”

“If this isn’t a dream then why- what? This makes no sense.”

“Alex, just rest a bit okay, I’ll wake you up when it’s time for sound check.” He kissed the shorter boy’s forehead as Alex snuggled closer, still shaking.