Beck Oliver is on a date. Again. As usual. They all start out the same: he takes the girl to a restaurant he cites as his 'favorite' - really, it's the one his best friend and roommate works at, which means good food at a ridiculously discounted price, which means more money to spend on drinks and entertaining his company for the evening - but it's still a four star restaurant in Santa Barbara, so neither party complains.

The girl practically spills out of the door by the time dinner is over, Andre gives Beck a highly educated wink as he trails her out, and Beck just smirks back. Whatever else happens from that point forward is up to her, whether it's sex or a movie or her blowing him while they watch said movie - he's had a few who just go back to their hotels right after dinner. The picture is the same every time, really. The girls, his clothes, and the people around them are the only things that change day to day.

They'll ask about his job, how he manages to afford to take them to fancy restaurants like the one they'd just left, and how he keeps his hair so buoyant all the time. "I'm an actor," he shrugs, hands in his pockets as they walk along the lit up street. He's perfected the bashful, but not too proud stance - the one that more often than not garners the reaction that makes him feel like he's really giving something back to the world with his talent. Her face usually lights up then, at least from experience, and it leads to questions about it - if he's just a pretty face, his favorite part he's played, his dream role. His rehearsed answers always come out as genuine as he needs them to. He's never let one know that he's never gotten more than a "glorified extra" role in a movie.

Then, he asks about her: what does she do, how long she's been doing it, what her favorite animal is, favorite color, movie, TV show. By the time the trivia round is over, they're back at his place for whatever, and before long, she's either asleep in his bed or on his couch, or she's heading off in a taxi to her hotel (usually the latter) when Andre comes in to (begrudgingly) get the detailed play-by-play from Beck.

It's a fun facade to keep up, he thinks. He says it adds some depth to his real life character whenever he and Andre get to that level of drunkenness while sitting at the restaurant's bar when Andre finally changes out of his whites for the night. They skip over that part of their semi-monthly chat tonight, though, to Andre's little relief. He's been watching Beck knock back drink after drink, and tersely waiting for some sort of stilted explanation for it.

"Man," Beck slurs, his sixth drink of the night, a third whiskey sour dangerously sloshing around and threatening to splash over the edge of the glass he swirls just a bit too freely. "We were both supposed to be… be big by now, man. You with the music and me with the acting, man, it was gonna be-" he pauses to sip a bit more of his drink, "-amazing. You're not even doing the music thing anymore, man, what's up with that?"

Andre snorts, resting his glass of water down on the countertop as he stared at his friend. "A dude's got bills to pay, man," he laughs. "You don't need to be worried about stuff like that and can still go after your dreams and shit, 'cause I'm paying your bills too."

"Oh, yeah." And he's thankful for that, really. Beck couldn't be more grateful to have a friend who took him in and didn't try to rush him out without a second thought because he understands what it feels like to need to follow your heart. "But, you-you gotta get back into the music, man. 'Cause if you don't make it, I sure as hell won't."

This conversation happens at least twice a month, usually right before Beck has a potentially career changing (or starting, for that matter) audition. Andre simply sighs, meeting his friend's glassy gaze with an unimpressed one of his own. "What time d'you have to be at the audition tomorrow?"

Beck groans into what remains of his drink at the premature thought of the audition. Typically, he holds out until at least twenty minutes before to think about it fully. "I dunno," he grumbles, the glass against his lips still. "Like, 11, or something. Doesn't matter."

"The hell you mean 'doesn't matter'? This is what you wanted to do, right? Like, what you've always wanted to do, so just do it. It matters, man, this could be it." Andre slides enough cash to the bartender to cover the arsenal of liquor Beck's gone through, and a tip, and gets up from his stool. "You need to get sleep, and I have a job to do tomorrow, anyway, so get your drunk ass up and out my restaurant."

He can't not comply, really, because he owes everything to Andre - and, aside from that, he's right. He knows he should be running into these potential roadblocks head first, instead of constantly finding his own detours. "Alright, alright," he huffs, less-than-cautiously stepping down and away from the counter and lightly hitting his cheeks a few times. "See?" he holds his arms out as though he's completed some great and challenging task, "Not drunk."

"Yeah, and not driving, either," Andre laughs, clapping a hand on Beck's shoulder to guide him out of the restaurant with as few casualties as possible. It takes a two-handed shoulder guide, a quick street crossing before they're met by a group of women, and a puking scare (or… three) for him to get Beck into the car and to their apartment building. He's sobered up enough to get himself up the stairs and into the shower, then into bed just as Andre's bringing him a massive bottle of water and the entire bottle of Advil to give him (forcefully, if need be).

"Drink up, man," he says, half-amused at the sight of his friend sitting on the side of his bed, his head already dropped into his hands simply at the prospect of a hangover. "Told you to take it easy, didn't I? Nobody listens to Andre and this is what happens." Beck rolls his eyes as he takes two of the pills and downing a quarter of the liter bottle of water, then lackadaisically shoos Andre out of the room. He swings his legs up under the sheets and decides to welcome the anxious, restless sleep with open arms because tomorrow, he's going to start making more of the life he's currently living.