sdmn one sh~i~ts

Come Home To Me /kshaw

words: 2345
warnings: just a bit sad tbh ⚠️

Whoever said choosing a job you love means never working a day in your life is a damn liar.

Jj has learned by now that dreaming big means facing grueling hardships, and though he never wants to refer to his job as burdensome, sometimes it's exactly that. He's still grateful for the experiences, even the difficult ones, in the same way you can look back on childhood struggles and feel a nostalgic fondness over them.

Enduring physical exhaustion, conjuring every ounce of strength out of pure ambition, fighting to prove himself and vouching for his own worth when nobody else would; these are the experiences that built him, brick by brick.

He's proud of how far he's come, and of how strong he's proven himself to be.

But he's exhausted.

The weight of his aspirations can be excruciating when he runs out of steam, when the usual fire that drives him dwindles down to mere embers. He feels it now as he stares blankly at the computer screen, the same project that's been taunting him for days staring right back at him. Zero progress has been made in the hours he's been here, making tonight another long restless one.

He's acclimated to these conditions to a certain extent. The lack of sleep has been an issue for a while, but it's still early enough in his career that the passion and promise of success energise him more than a solid eight hours of rest usually would.

There are moments though, nights like these where nothing works out for him, times when sleeping for a full fourteen hours sounds far more appealing than bright lights, sore muscles, and strained eyes. His love for music drives him to work hard, but sometimes music works to drive him crazy.

Sleep deprivation always takes a toll when it feels most inconvenient. If only he could just push through, just get himself in his zone, he'd be able to finish the songs that have been giving him such a hard time. Yet the more he pushes, the more his frustration builds up and the less productive he feels.

Lately, most of his nights end with working himself to exhaustion and sleeping in his studio, his bed at home long forgotten. Most nights, he'd endure this strange ache in his heart. But tonight, everything inside him is off. His bones feel like windchimes, a hollow sort of sensation. And emptiness. The song singing inside him is one of yearning, a desire to become whole.

So, Jj goes home to his friends. To the only people who fill him up and make him feel complete again.

It's only once he's through the front door, slipping the shoes off of his feet, that he realises just how late it is. He feels it in the silence of the house, and though it's comforting to know that at least his friends have a little more sense than him to rest their bodies and minds when they have the chance, it's still unsettling. For once, what he craves most is the bustle of bodies, uncontrollable laughter, the shrieking banter. There's a sense of family in the chaos and clamour, and he misses it.

He misses them.

Which is ridiculous, he tells himself. He lives with them, shares most schedules with them, spends every day with them... he is literally in the same house as them right now, just a few seconds away.

And yet, the loneliness is still there, eating him from the inside until all that's left is a shell.

The worst part about it is that even now, suffering as much as he is, he just collapses onto the sofa, unable to bring himself to seek the closeness he desperately needs. Breaching his bedroom feels like defeat, feels like asking for something.