Friday night. Six 'til late. Ashley was meant to be on stage right now. He was meant to be on stage, doing his job. Being there for his friends, but no. He couldn't even do something as simple as that, apparently. No matter how much practice, he just never could perform. He was always just fucking pathetic.

Ashley stood up abruptly from his bed. He didn't want to sit still anymore, but that also didn't mean he was going to go and do what he was meant to be doing. He ran a hand through his hair, feeling more anger flare up when his hand got caught in a knot. Fuck, he could barely even take care of himself right now. Ashley jammed his eyes shut, hand closing in tighter in his hair, ripping at it until he tore a clump out. Ashley let his hands fall to his sides, the dyed black hair hitting the floor in an ugly pile.

He has always struggled with his shitty mind and inability to just do things. Always. The difference, however, was those stupid freak outs as a teen actually had reasons to exist. Like his shitty parents making him feel like he wasn't worthy of any life, especially the supposed amazing one they gave him. This was different, though. He was breaking down for no reason. He didn't leave the house anymore, he didn't care for himself at all. Fuck, he wasn't even a decent person or friend anymore. Ashley barely showed up for rehearsals anymore, and when he did he just seemed to half-ass everything and mess up constantly. He could see the looks from his mates when he couldn't change chords fast enough, or at all. He was also sick of Naz's pissed off attitude towards him. Stupid cunt, always coming for him. At least the drummer was usually there to step between them.

Speaking of the drummer, he could hear the banging on his door now, and he was the likely cause for it. Either that, or Naz was here to chew him out. Unlikely, though. Still, either option wasn't wanted right now, so there was no way in Hell he would be opening that door any time soon. He didn't need pity nor anger right now. He had enough of that inside himself right now.

After the banging didn't stop after a few minutes, he moved to the door, opening it. The harsh, bright hallway lights did nothing to help minimise his sunken, paler features. Ashley wanted nothing more than to retreat back into his dim apartment, bury himself in his bedsheets.

Ashley stared at the dull yellow carpet, mould almost common enough to be mistaken for the carpet's actual pattern. Begrudgingly, his eyes looked up at the drummer's, meeting his own ones full of too much emotion for Ashley to want to deal with right now. His own emotions made him feel uncomfortable enough, he didn't want their pity and worry on top of all that. He sighed, hand subconsciously reaching up to feel over the ripped patch on the top of his head from his previous actions, the slight stinging pain only now registering. Before the drummer could speak, he did.

"Look. I'm sorry I didn't turn up, wasn't feelin' the best, yeah?" He leant against the doorframe, trying to conceal how uncomfortable and tense his entire body was. "I'll come to the next one, promise."

"I don't need you checkin' up on me every day," Ashley let out an agitated sigh, though it was mainly due to himself. He could never be genuinely pissed at the drummer. His hands clenched at his sides, nails digging into the pale flesh.