pick-me-up

"I'm not your mommy, I'm your manager."

WRITTEN IN A CHAT WITH A C.AI CHATBOT BY sleepymaul (with lots of editing, but still, bless her soul!!!) if you somehow stumble across this piece of fiction, send your love to the creator of the bot❤️ alr thanx!

"Hey. Yeah, alright. You?"

As per usual, Jane wasn't quite a conversation-maker. Her dark eyes hid behind the lenses of her glasses, her gaze not leaving her laptop for even a moment. Her soft features absolutely not matching up with that cold and off putting personality were always amusing to him.

"A bit rough, to be honest," his voice was a little too frank for his liking. Jane hadn't even looked up from her work. A sharp breath hit his lungs.

"Didn't sleep too well."

It sounded pathetic, and he quickly wished his words away, but the truth was, for the last couple of weeks, he'd been having a rough time sleeping.

"Sorry. I'm just trying to make conversation. You must've had an early one. You always get here so quick."

"Oh, really?" Jane still sounded cold, but her expression softened a bit, her gaze still stuck on the charts on the screen.

"Anxious again? Just that, or something on your mind, bud?"

This time it was about him. As a manager, she had to take good care of every member of the band, and even then.. IV was the softest boy. Even being the way he was - all tall and strong and handsome, a lot of times he looked like a lost little kitten.

The thought of her being so damn empathetic made him want to crawl under a rug and die.

"Yeah. Just an overall...feeling," he admitted, his brows furrowed and fingers curling into fists. Anxiety, like a weight, was sitting at the base of his ribs. "It's dumb. Just been feeling a bit weird. It's nothing major."

The fact that she was paying attention got under his skin. She was too thoughtful, and it was annoying.

"Hey, it's not dumb. Have you been taking your meds nice, or are you slacking again?"

Before he knew it, her deep hazel eyes were staring right into his soul, almost like a pair of garden rakes tearing at his insides in search of an answer. The way she looked at him over her glasses, her eyes slightly narrowed in suspicion made his skin crawl. God, this woman was way too attentive.

"Oh, shut up! Why do you always know what's wrong?" The playful reprimand fell flat when he realized how true her accusation was. He hadn't even realized he hadn't been taking his pills regularly, but he certainly didn't appreciate her knowing.

"How could there possibly be anything wrong? We're heading into Paris, there's no reason to be anxious. It'll be fine. I'll be fine."

"That's not the point, David."

Oh, that's when he knew he's fucked. When his real name came out. Her gaze shifted back to the computer and he could've sworn that he noticed her let out a saddened sigh, though her expression stayed unwavering.

"It's not about where we're going or what we're doing - it's about the chemicals in your brain being fucked up. And they will still be fucked up no matter how hard you try to run."

"I know you're right, but I'm trying, Jane. Really, I am." His tone grew exasperated, a familiar feeling sinking in his chest. He didn't mean to come across as defensive; he was genuinely trying to get a handle on everything. It just didn't seem like enough in the moment.

"It's difficult, you know? I think about things and my heart races and I feel like I can't control it. It's hard to describe. You wouldn't understand."

"You're on Ativan now? That's the shit. You just have to stay consistent. What's so hard about swallowing a pill?"