Cliché

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"Keep Playing Please"

Tommy

Tw: Panic attacks, anxiety, mentions of past abuse, depression

Notes: I've been wanting to write this for forever. It was such a sweet idea that I couldn't resist.

Song: "Knee Deep At ATP" By Lovejoy

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(Y/n) sat huddled underneath a weighted blanket in their apartment. All around them objects shook on their shelves from the vibrations of thunder outside their very thin window. It seemed to shake her bones, as well as the very foundation of their apartment.

Soft fabric of the small couch they were attempting to sleep on brushed up against their exposed skin every time a new sob racked their body.

The plastic beads sitting inside the carefully sewn edges of (Y/n)'s weighted blanket seemed to crush her with the pressure of life itself. It was meant to be soothing, yet (Y/n) couldn't bring themself to stop trembling.

Flashes of yelling, things being thrown, blood spilling on formerly spotless kitchen floors, shrill screams and horrific images appeared with each string of lighting that lit up their vision. Choked sobs were suppressed at (Y/n) attempted to focus on anything but the past.

These memories are what they had spent their whole life trying to repress; pushing them down so far till she couldn't even remember the faces of her former family. But nothing worked. Every time a storm came in, it would all surface until they were reduced to nothing more than a shaking leaf. A terrified husk of the person who had once been.

As yet another round of bright electricity struck the ground outside (Y/n)'s window, a new sound drifted through the air and into one of her ears.

It was a soft melody. A warm voice accompanied it, along with the slow sound of a steady drumbeat. It cut through the next round of earth-shattering thunder like a hot knife in butter, dulling the anxiety provoking noise.

(Y/n) found themself propping themself up on their couch (albeit still trembling) and leaning their ear onto their living room wall. It was a poor attempt to be able to hear the weak music better.

With the peeling paint of their cheap apartment wall scratching at their ears skin, (Y/n) was just in time to catch the tail end of the song.

The music was so much clearer now. Crisp, refreshing, soothing. Before it was similar to the sound of water dripping from a leaky faucet. Now it was a roaring river, washing over (Y/n) in waves and bringing a smile to her cheeks that were still stained red with streaks of salty tears.

She was drowning. Drowning in the lyrics, drowning in the beat, drowning in the utter joy that hasn't appeared on her face in years.

It was certainly a lot more upbeat than the sad sounding middle part. Now (Y/n) had to resist the urge to bob their head up and down and dance. Something they hadn't had the urge to do since leaving their past home.

But then, just like that, it ended.

And (Y/n) was alone with the weather once more.

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(Y/n) adjusted the blanket on their shoulders, hoping that they didn't look like that homeless person on the corner near the grocery store. A shaking hand drew itself up to the doors scuffed surface, knocking timidly once, twice, three times before falling limply to their side.