Chapter Text
Matthew Bellamy never thought he would get tired of touring.
He was wrong.
This was a bloody hellfest of a tour.
He shuffled quietly into the tour bus kitchen and saw Dom sitting in the little kitchen booth, drinking tea and staring out the window. Dom’s black hair nearly matched the shadows under his eyes, and Matt felt a pang of worry. He hadn't seen Dom all day, having spent the morning with the videographer going over some of the concert footage and the early afternoon sleeping. Matt was slightly worried about Dom, who had been quieter since he had broken up with his girlfriend, Elizabeth, after the last show in Colorado. He sat across from him and smiled, then stammered out a joke he'd heard from a roadie a few days ago.
"Why don't we ever play hide and seek with mountains? Because they always peak!" He chuckled weakly, his laugh echoing in the hushed bus. He was met with silence, a deafening noise that threatened to swallow him whole.
“Sorry, that was a lame one. Don’t even know why I said it in the first place. How’s the weather out there, counting cactuses? Or is it cacti? I can never tell, can you?”
He looked over to Dom, hoping to see a hint of a smile. But Dom's gaze was distant, fingers tapping lightly on one of the drumsticks on the table. Matt's laugh faltered, dissolving into a quiet concern.
"Dom?" he began gently. "Are you--."
"I'm fine, Matt," came the quick reply.
"Is this about what happened with Eliza--,"
"No. I'm fine. I'm not being weird." Dom shook his head and forced a smile. "It was a breakup. We both knew it was coming. Better now, in the U.S. portion of the tour, than in Europe. She was fine. I'm fine."
"Are you sure?" Matt asked, his voice full of concern.
"I just need some time to myself, Matt."His voice was barely a whisper, his eyes refusing to meet Matt's.
Dom looked out the window again, and Matt noticed how incredibly sad he looked. Matt just wanted to help. He hated the thought of Dom being in any kind of pain at all.
Matt sighed, feeling a wave of frustration wash over him. He cared deeply for Dom and wanted nothing more than to comfort him. Yet Dom was pushing him away, putting walls where there should have been open arms. It was infuriating.
"Dom," Matt began, a little more firmly than he'd intended, "I'm not just going to sit by and watch you mope.”
"You can't help me, Matt! Not with this," he snapped. "I said I needed space, and I meant it."
Matt recoiled slightly, stung by the harshness of Dom's words. He hadn't meant to anger him, only to help. His heart ached, a mix of concern and annoyance swirling within him.
"You can't keep pushing people…me…us… away, Dom. Not everyone is like your father–"
The moment the words slipped out, Matt realized his mistake (he had meant it as not everyone was going to push him away like his father did to him, but it came out more like he was accusing Dom of acting like his father).
“I’m not –”
"No...Dom wait that's not---" Matt tried but Dom cut him off.
"I am not turning into him . I would never-" Dom stopped as his breath hitched. He stared, the hurt unmistakable in his gray eyes. Then shifted farther away from him, pressing himself up against the wall of the bus.
"Wait-"
"Stop it, Matt. For once in your life, just stop talking. I said I was fine."
Matt felt his frustration hit its peak, a boiling pot of emotions threatening to overspill.
"You don't think I know when you’re lying? Are you daft?" he spat out, his voice echoing around the confined space of the tour bus. "It’s not good, you know-”
“Stop-”
“--keeping it all bottled up inside like this." His eyes blazed with a fire lit by anger and worry, his hands trembling slightly as they balled into fists.
“Just tell me what's wrong so I can help–”
“I said stop it!” Dom snapped. His grip on his drumsticks tightened, knuckles white against the polished wood. "No one can help me with this. Especially you. " The room echoed with his words. He glared at Matt, his gray eyes icy. "So just fuck off."
Without another word, Dom stormed (as much as he could in the confined space) out of the cramped kitchen towards his bunk in the back of the tour bus. The drumsticks he had been clutching so tightly a moment ago were tossed aside, clattering loudly against the floor. Matt knew he had to give Dom the space he asked for, but that didn't alleviate the worry gnawing at him. He picked up the abandoned drumsticks, tracing his fingers over the familiar grooves and indentations, hoping against hope that Dom would find the strength to confide in him soon.
888
The tour was an intricate dance of logistics, performed with nearly military-like precision–with the exception of several zeppelin robots that seemed to have developed intelligent enough AI to have a mind of their own. Muse was crisscrossing the United States in their tour bus, a mobile behemoth that served as a home and studio for the summer months. Three months, sixteen venues, ninety-one days on the road cramped together in that blasted tour bus. The bus would arrive at each location, and then the crew - roadies, techies, and specialists - would start unloading and setting up the massive, complex stage. The stage was a testament to the band’s vision - an architectural wonder of steel and sound, glittering with lights and bristling with amps and speakers.
Once the stage was set, the band would emerge from the bus, ready for rehearsals and the dreaded soundcheck. The latter, to Matt, always seemed to take forever and eat up the majority of his day. Guiding their movements was a stage manager - a man named Mark, who was new to the tour and bore an aura of impatience and arrogance. This wasn’t necessarily towards Matt or any specific person but the AI zeppelins that seemed to be a constant headache amongst the crew. He had a bad habit of taking it out on whoever was closest to him. He would shepherd the band onto the stage, directing them with a sharp tongue and sharper glares, oblivious to the subtleties of their creative process.
The next tour we are doing, it’s just going to be us. No robots. No smoke machines. Just us and our instruments. Make it simple. Matt thought wearily as he watched the two zeppelins bump into each other–even though they weren't supposed to and heard cursing from the tech booth.
Fuck this tour.
Only eight more shows to go. Only eight more bloody shows to go, and then we go home. Matt thought as he once again played the opening riff to “Plug in Baby,” the same damn seven notes he had been playing for nearly an hour because stupid Mark was busy nitpicking Dom. Again. A zeppelin dreamily floated past Mark, who was turning redder and redder with rage.
The atmosphere, typically filled with creativity, had turned into a tense arena, the air heavy with frustration and exhaustion. Dom looked like he was about to fall apart. Matt knew he had barely been getting any sleep.
"Stop!" Dom finally burst out, his voice hoarse with fatigue. "I need a break."
Mark’s response was immediate. "This isn't a tea party, Dom. We're here to work. Come on, again from measure two," he snapped, leaving no room for argument.
Matt's gaze drifted back to Dom, noting the slight tremor in Dom's hands. He saw the sheen of sweat causing his black hair to stick to his forehead, the dark streaks a stark contrast to his ghostly pallor. Worst of all, the anxiety flickering in Dom's eyes was something he had never seen before.
"Dom, you're not even trying," Mark chastised, his eyes flashing with annoyance. "You're just sitting there, going through the motions. What’s wrong with you today?"
Dom's knuckles whitened around his drumsticks, his breath hitching. "I am trying ," he replied defensively, his voice a low growl.
Mark's suspicions were etched transparently across his face as he stepped closer to Dom, eyes narrowing. "What is it then, huh? Have you been drinking? You're a mess," he accused sharply, voice laced with disgust.
Matt felt a surge of defensive anger for Dom and immediately stepped between them. "He's not drunk, Mark. Back off." Matt's voice was a low growl, eyes blazing with protective fury.
Mark scoffed. "Don't give me that, Bellamy. Look at him—he's absolutely wasted!" He jabbed a finger in Dom's direction, seeming to relish in the confrontation.
"That's rubbish, and you're out of order," Matt countered, his posture rigid with tension. "He's exhausted, can't you see that? Not everything is about being perfect in rehearsals."
"Oh, so now we're making excuses for slacking off? This is a professional gig, in case you haven't noticed!" Mark fired back, his stance mirroring Matt's stubbornness.
Before Matt could retort, a drumstick suddenly cut through their heated exchange, clattering noisily against the stage floor. They both looked towards Dom. The drummer's face was flushed with anger and humiliation, his lips pressed into a tight line.
"I'm right here, you know!" He shouted, his voice filled with exasperation. "I'm not some hapless child that needs to be whispered about!"
With that, Dom hurled the other drumstick at them; it arced high before clattering against the floor. Dom’s eyes blazed with a defiance Matt had never seen before, a mix of hurt, anger, and a quiet sort of desperation that pierced him to the core.
Without another word, Dom turned on his heel, his boots echoing loudly against the stage as he stormed off, leaving a stunned silence in his wake. Matt watched him go, his heart pounding wildly in his chest.
A zeppelin floated down to the stage and collapsed, making a defeated beeping noise as the battery died.
"Dammit, Mark! Look at what you've done!" Matt shot angrily because this was totally all Mark's fault.
"Alright, fine," he groaned, throwing his hands up in surrender. " Go. Just go. Take your break."
The narrow corridors of the venue were empty, and the echo of his footsteps was a grim reminder of Dom's absence. He tried the door leading to the outside, finding it unlocked. The cool evening air hit his face as he stepped out, his eyes scanning the vicinity for any sign of Dom.
"Where did you go?" Matt muttered under his breath.
Matt sprinted down winding streets and through thrumming crowds, his eyes darting around desperately. Then, he caught a glimpse of a painfully familiar figure in a shadowy alleyway – Dom sitting on an old wooden crate. Head leaning against the wall, he let out a puff of smoke, the cigarette balancing delicately between his fingers. His hair stuck up at odd angles, as if it had just recently been tousled, his eyes red and puffy.
"Dom!" Matt called out to him.
Dom startled and dropped the cigarette on the ground. The smoke wafted around his face and he waved it away impatiently. Observing this gesture, Matt felt the familiar frustration building up inside him as he instinctively wanted to argue against Dom's smoking habit. However, he managed to suppress his words, realizing that engaging in that specific debate would be pointless. It just wasn't the right time.
"Hey," Matt said quietly, "I've been looking for you. Are you alright?"
"I’m fine." Dom said in a gravelly voice, not looking him in the eye. “You don't have to stay. I’m fine, Matt, really. You can go. I just needed some fresh air.”
Matt raised an eyebrow at the still-smoldering cigarette.
"I see," Matt said, nodding towards the discarded cigarette with a smirk. "So that's your idea of fresh air these days?"
Dom sighed in response, averting his gaze. His thin shoulders trembled slightly, and Matt felt his heart drop. He was just trying to lighten the mood, but it was clear that now was not the time.
"Shit. Dom, I’m so–," Matt started,
"It's alright," Dom cut him off, his voice barely a whisper. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand quickly, then brushed some invisible dust off his jeans.
"Just go, Matt," he rasped, turning his face away, trying to hide the evidence of his distress. "I don't...need your help."
"I'm not going anywhere, " Matt replied. "I'm here, and we're going to get through this. Together."
But Matt wasn't convinced. He could see the pain Dom was trying too hard to hide. He took another step forward, lowered himself to sit on another crate beside Dom, and reached to touch his arm.
"You don't have to do this alone, Dom," he said, his voice soft but unwavering. "I won't let you."
Dom flinched at the contact but didn't pull away.
"Why?" he whispered, his voice barely audible over the distant city noise. "Why would you help me?"
"Why are you even asking me that? Dom....it's me.... I care about you," Matt replied, slightly hurt that Dom even had to think that for one moment. "You're my friend. And friends don't leave each other when things get tough."
"I'm... I'm sorry, Matt," Dom muttered, his voice barely a whisper.
Matt shook his head, a soft smile playing on his lips. "You've got nothing to apologize for, Dom. And honestly," he continued, his voice dropping to a whisper as a mischievous spark ignited in his eyes, "Mark was being a total fish wanker , wasn't he?"
Dom looked at him, surprise flickering across his face before a soft chuckle escaped him. He leaned his head against Matt's shoulder - a silent admission of his need for comfort.
Matt sighed and fought the urge to wrap his arm around Dom, not wanting to push him too far.
“I suppose he was, wasn't he? Maybe it’s time we fed him to the robots?” Dom suggested, his laugh tickling Matt’s ear.
Dom was silent for too long as if grappling with whether or not to let Matt in on his struggle."Is there...is there something else you want to talk about?" Matt ventured carefully, breaking the silence, his voice barely above a whisper. He didn't want to push it, but he couldn’t ignore the distress in Dom's demeanor.
"Look, whatever it is, I can help you. Please, let me at least try." Matt asked, hoping Dom would trust him enough to finally, finally open up to him.
Dom let out a heavy sigh, leaning back against the wall and staring blankly at the sky.
"I don't think I can go back there with him…I just…Matt, I can’t. I know soundcheck is important with those damned robots, but can’t they do it without us just one time? What difference does it really make? They go where they want to go with or without the music," he pleaded, his voice barely audible. There was a terrifying kind of numbness to his tone that sent a shiver down Matt's spine. And the worst thing was Matt couldn't fix it because Dom wasn't telling him. How could he fix something if he didn't know what the problem was, to begin with? Matt chewed his lower lip nervously, his mind whirling with fear and uncertainty.
"Maybe... maybe we should take a walk," he suggested carefully, his voice almost a whisper. He glanced at Dom, who looked so fragile, so lost. Taking a deep breath, Matt continued, "We could... you know... cool down a little."
Once again, Dom was quiet for too long before he answered, “I don’t know.”
So they stayed, Matt’s heart aching with fear, concern, and a strange kind of love that he couldn't quite understand.
Matt watched Dom's gaze unfocused, his deep-set eyes staring off into the distance. Something seemed to shift within his friend, as though he was not in the confines of the alleyway but somewhere far away. It was unlike anything Matt had ever seen in him before, and it filled him with a cold, creeping dread.
"Remember... remember that day we went to the beach?" Dom's voice was soft, barely above a whisper, and his words seemed to hang heavily in the air. Matt could see his fingers twitching. His lips pressed tightly together as though he was hunting for the right words. "It was... it was so hot, and you kept complaining that your ice cream was melting too fast."
Matt nodded, trying to recall the memory. They had been so young. He remembered how the sand had felt beneath his feet, the salt in the air, the squawking of the seagulls overhead. But there was something lurking beneath the surface of Dom's words, a hidden pain that Matt couldn't quite decipher.
"Yeah, I remember," Matt replied softly, forcing a small smile onto his face. "You kept laughing at me, saying I should've chosen a cup instead of a cone."
Dom gave a small nod, his gaze still fixed on some distant point. "Yeah... yeah, I did."
They fell into silence, the echoes of their past hanging between them. Matt felt a lump forming in his throat, his heart aching, longing for simpler times. Times before fame, before the tours, before the complex emotions that now seemed to weave themselves into every moment they shared. Matt wanted to reach out, to understand the turmoil etching lines of worry onto Dom's face, but he felt lost without a compass, like navigating without a map.
"Anyway," Dom mumbled, "I just... I just wanted to remember... something good... you know? You were always good at making me laugh….and feel better….” he gave Matt a small, crooked smile. “...are still good at it."
Matt nodded, his gaze softening. "Yeah, Dom," he murmured, "I know."
Matt swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his chest. He hesitated, not quite sure how to navigate the fragile situation. Finally, he reached out, placing a comforting hand over Dom’s.
Dom shifted uncomfortably, a barely perceptible movement, yet it felt massive to Matt. The warmth that had momentarily flickered in the small space between them seemed to vanish, and Dom seemed to shrink into himself, creating an invisible barrier Matt so desperately wanted to cross. It was like he was–
"I knew I'd find you two here."
Both of them turned in surprise to find Chris standing there, his eyes tired yet determined. "Well, not in an alleyway, but someplace close by," he said softly, his voice barely more than a murmur.
He gave a small sad smile as he walked towards them, removing his jacket and draping it around Dom's shoulders.
"Mark was being an arsehole back there. I just managed to escape," he quipped, attempting to lighten the mood.
Chris lowered himself slowly, his back resting against the cold brick wall opposite Dom. His gaze never left Dom's face. The corners of his eyes crinkled with worry. He paused, his next words heavy with guilt. "I'm sorry he pushed you, Dom. I should have said something."
"Matt...Chris...," Dom finally managed to say, the words cracking as they passed his lips, "this isn't your fault. I'm just...I'm being stupid, ridiculous..."
Matt and Chris exchanged a helpless glance.
"Dom," Matt started, his voice shaky but determined, "this isn't silly. You're not being ridiculous. This is... it's a lot for anyone to handle."
The tension in the air was getting thick again, and Matt felt a sudden urge to break it. He leaned back, a small sparkle of mischief in his eyes. "You know what we need?" he said, a grin spreading across his face. "We need some good, old-fashioned stargazing. Just like we used to when we were kids, remember?"
Dom's expression softened, a hint of curiosity breaking through the apprehensiveness. "Stargazing? Here? It’s not even night yet."
Matt nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, why not? We’re outside, ‘kay, it's not exactly the same without a field or a rooftop, and it might be a tad early… but come on, let's give it a shot." He gestured upward ... .at the still blue sky where the sun was just barely setting.
Chris chuckled, stood up, and dusted off his jeans. "He's right, Dom. Sometimes, you just need to look at something bigger than us, you know?"
Reluctantly, Dom craned his neck towards the sliver of sky visible between the towering buildings.
"There," Matt said, pointing upward at what he was pretty sure was an airplane, but to make Dom feel better (and distract him) he pretended it was a star. "We're all under the same sky, no matter where we go. It's... comforting, isn't it?"
A small smile crept onto Dom's face, and for a moment, the weight of the world seemed just a little lighter on his shoulders.
"Yeah, it is," he agreed, and the three of them sat there, finding solace in the quiet company of each other.
“Are you going to make a wish?” Matt asked Dom, giving him a small smile.
“What?”
“On the star?” Matt pointed upwards at the twinkling light.
“On the star?” Dom repeated, giving Matt an incredulous look. “What are we, like twelve?”
“Oh go on, just for fun. Make a wish.”
“Alright….”
Matt watched as Dom closed his eyes, exhaling softly. His features softened for a moment, and it was as if–
Chris' phone buzzed, breaking the silence and causing Dom to startle. Chris glanced at the screen and snorted.
"Well, the robots haven't eaten Mark yet. Damn it.” He cleared his throat and began to read out the text in an exaggerated Texan accent. “Wrapped up sound check. Be here by 8pm. Do try to sober yourselves up by then.” He rolled his eyes, “ Thanks, mum ," his tone dripping with sarcasm.
Dom's voice barely rose above a whisper, frayed at the edges with a vulnerability that tugged at Matt's heart. "I don't want to go back," he confessed, his gaze locked up at the sky as if it were his only anchor.
"Okay," Matt simply said, his hand instinctively reaching out to offer comfort before remembering and pulling back. "Let's just...let's just sit here for a while longer, okay?"
Dom simply nodded, his gaze unfocused.
"Just eight more shows, Dom," Matt reassured, his voice gentle. "We're down to single digits now."
For a moment, Dom said nothing, his face unreadable. Then he nodded, giving Matt a small, forced smile. "Right. Eight more shows."
As Dom's words echoed in the silence, Matt felt worried. But he quickly pushed it aside, focusing instead on the task ahead. After all, they were so close, and they just had to keep going for themselves and each other.