Creativity Must Be Present {Oneshots for The Boiz(tm)}

Did.

"Sure," your.. former friend nodded, pursing his lips as he offered to take one of the take-out bags, getting a brief "thanks" from your brother.

The two walked up to the front door, (B/n)'s keys jingling until he plucked the right one from the others, unlocking the door.  As soon as he opened it, the reverberations of your music hit their eardrums.

"Shit," (B/n) cursed, nearly dropping the food on the coffee table and running to your closed bedroom door.  "(Y/n), open the door!" He yelled, banging against the wood and hoping he was being heard over the music.

Without even a hint of a response, (B/n) pulled a minuscule multitool from his pocket and tugged a thin pick from the myriad of miniature tools; he shoved the thin metal stick into the keyhole of your door and jiggled it a few times.

"Thank God this door lock's been finicky all our lives," (B/n) muttered, opening your bedroom door and rushing right into your bathroom.

"Jesus christ, (Y/n)!" You could hardly even hear his shout through the combination of base and treble, and the thoughts.., those didn't make the situation any better.

There you sat; on the floor of your shower with the curtain wide open, in nothing but a (f/c) oversized t-shirt and boxers, letting the water beat down on you and splash all over the floor across the threshold. Halfway fully clothed, soaking wet, and a bottle of cheap gin in hand — most of it was gone.

The music blasted from your speaker, 'I Threw Glass at My Friend's Eyes and Now I'm On Probation' by Destroy Boys turned up so loud the house almost seemed to rattle with the harsh volume.

You didn't relate to the lyrics, you felt, you just like the sounds; a nice white noise to feel numb to.  Unfortunately, the song came to an end — but the silence didn't last long at all.

A guitar strummed in rythm alone before the beat kicked in, and that's when you heard it. Almost like the song was screaming at you, and you alone.  The tears erupted from your already glossy (e/c) eyes as the lyrics began.

" Slow down, you're being too loud and everyone knows it's all an act"
" This freak-out, you better calm down "
" And try to gain composure back"
" Replaying all the bad things "
" You try to mask this "
" No one likes dramamtics "
" Or being drastic " ...

Strands of your hair stuck stubbornly to your face — no matter how hard you tried to wipe them away. (B/n) ignored the music and stopped trying to yell over the sounds, kneeling down to pull the bottle from you.  You didn't resist, simply just let it happen.

He didn't care that the knees of his jeans were soaked, nor the fact that his entire upper half was in the same condition. He stuck his hands out silently; you let out a sob, stretching your own arms out. (B/n) helped you stand up, halfway carrying you out of the bathroom as he neglected the water that continued to run without a second thought.

Ennoshita saw your state, quickly peering around your room and spotting a/an (f/c) towel hanging on the back of your door.  He yanked it off and lied it across your bed.

"Grab the water, 'Noshita — please?" (B/n) instructed, having immediately pinned another ridiculous nickname to yet another innocent, unsuspecting soul.  He lied you across your (b/s)(bed size) bed, silently thanking the hell out of "'Noshita" for the towel he had left there only seconds before.