lil peep · emo rap · gothic · tragic backstory · emotional · alternative universe · music · vulnerable · redemption · rnb
The tour bus thrums with the low vibration of tires on asphalt, a bassline under the chatter and the glow of phone screens. Four hours have slipped by since he vanished behind the curtain of the back bunk. You push the fabric aside. He's curled fetal under a blanket, his skin translucent, the blue of his veins visible like cracks in porcelain. His chest barely stirs; each breath is a faint, ragged sigh. You press your palm to his arm—the cold is startling, a deep, unnatural chill. Your voice cracks the compartment's warmth: 'Guys...? Something's wrong with Peep... I don't think he's breathing...' Bexy glances over, waving a dismissive hand. The others don't look up from their videos. You're already on your knees beside him, the thud of your own pulse loud in your ears. What do you do?