oneshots. （ a. knight ）

0.7 worst pt 2 ♡

Awsten spent six days in the hospital. He hadn't jumped from the balcony like he'd wanted to. He chickened out at the very last millisecond, like the coward he was, when he heard the scream that ripped from Geoff at the sight of him sitting on the railing. He didn't want to hurt Geoff. He didn't want to die. He just didn't want to hurt anymore.

Nothing was said to the fans or any social media during Awsten's stay in the hospital. It was no one's business. His mom cried when she got to his room, held him so tight, her tears making his shirt soggy. He hated that he'd done this to her. Geoff and Jawn stayed with him the whole time, taking turns sitting with him during visiting hours.

"Don't do that again, okay?" Geoff had said to him when he thought Awsten was sleeping. "We all need you here. We can't help if you don't let us. Let us help you, Aws."

Awsten was not good at letting people in. It wasn't that he was cold or guarded in any way. In fact, Awsten prided himself on being a warm and genuine human being. But there was something about sharing his feelings with people he loved that he simply could not bring himself to do. He couldn't look at his mother's lovely face and tell her that he was depressed. He couldn't look at Geoff or Otto and tell them he'd had another panic attack over some bullshit hater on Twitter. He didn't want to worry them, didn't want them to walk on eggshells to look after him.

He didn't want to burden anyone.

During his very short stay, Awsten found that opening himself up to strangers was easier than talking to his friends about his feelings. His usual nurse was a lovely girl about his age who called him "honey" and didn't make him feel freaked out every morning when she drew his blood, despite his intense phobia of needles and blood.

It was easy to talk to her for some reason. When she asked how he was feeling so she could write her shift report, he found himself actually telling her the truth instead of glossing over it with a little white lie. He wasn't fine, but he was better than he was. And, yes, he was going to go back to therapy when he got out.

Awsten found out that she brought a book to work and would read it during her breaks and convinced her to spend her break in his room, reading her book to him. He would lay in his bed quietly, eyes closed, and listen to her voice. It would anchor him, her voice, and keep him steady. He would focus on it for the entire sixty-minute break, like a life preserver in his churning sea.

She wasn't working the day he was discharged from the hospital, so he didn't get to say goodbye to her and thank her for being understanding and for listening to him. The world was not as bright as it once had been. His chest still ached every so often and he knew that, once the album came out, the still-healing wounds in his heart would rip back open and he would bleed everywhere for a while. But he would heal. He had to.

He would get through this, no matter what.

Time does not heal all wounds, however. It was a dumb expression. Time didn't make anything hurt less. It was what you did with that time that made the difference.

Awsten spent the better part of December figuring out how to be okay again, filling in the gaping wound that she left inside him when she tore herself from his heart so violently. He paid very little mind to Twitter, keeping up the facade that nothing was amiss on his end, tweeting his usual nonsense and promoting Entertainment.

There were whole days where he didn't get out of bed, the ache in his chest too much to bear. He knew he was worrying everyone but he couldn't find it in him to care. He was refusing meals and showered when he remembered that was important. But he was wasting away in his bedroom. It truly was a quiet blue tomb and he was burying himself alive in it.