He got a call at four in the morning.
Douglas first tried to curl up on himself, praying his ringing mobile phone was nothing more than the remnants of a bad dream. The ringing kept going and he groaned.
"Damn, damn, damn," he muttered as he reached over to grab the phone. The springs of the couch gave an unusual sound while he shifted, and Douglas made a mental note to buy a new couch. He flipped his phone opened. "What?"
"Is this Douglas Richardson?" Said an Irish voice. There were sounds of men whooping in the background.
"Depends," Douglas yawned, leaning back into his pillow. It was so tempting to go back to sleep, even with the phone in his hand. "What do you want?"
"Yeah, I got one of your mates over here at my pub. He's drunk as a skunk and he refuses to leave. He keeps bothering my other customers."
That sounded like it could be Lenny. He's a prick, though. Douglas sniffed. "Then why don't you just throw him out?"
"Because I don't want it coming to that. Look-" there's a moment of shuffling on his end like he was readjusting the phone. "I don't think your friend is a bad bloke. Two hours ago he was wailing about his house or something, and frankly I don't think I have it in me to throw out a Captain on his arse in this weather."
Captain? "Martin's over there?"
"I didn't get his name. If your Martin has red hair and won't shut up about aeroplanes, then it's him."
No longer sleepy, Douglas cradled the phone in his ear as he hastily shoved on his socks. Why didn't Martin get the pub owner to call one of his siblings? Or maybe one of the students from his house?
Douglas would like to call the whole situation ironic, except it's not funny and it's probably best to stay away from such thoughts.
"What's the name and location of your place?"
()
Douglas didn't need to carry Martin, but he did need to grab the younger man by the upper arm and forcefully drag him out of the pub. Martin gave gibberish protests and made half-hearted attempts to get back inside. "It's cold!" He complained as they stepped through the door.
"Yes, because it's December and it's known to snow during this time of the year," Douglas huffed, his breath steaming into the cold air. "Why did you come here without a jacket? Do you want to catch cold?"
"Because what does it matter?" Martin suddenly blurted out. "If I catch cold and die, will anybody care?"
"I'm here, aren't I?"
Martin sneered. "You're only here because you feel guilty. This isn't friendship, this is-" he motioned his hand between the two of them hastily. "-this is… well, it's not friendship!"
Douglas wanted to argue that. He had done things for Martin, purely out of the goodness of his heart. He'd given Martin rides when his van wasn't working properly. He'd occasionally lose a word game on purpose just so Martin could win and gloat once in a while.
Douglas kept his mouth shut on that argument. Because even in his head, it sounded petty and pointless. Instead, he said, "You're drunk. I'm going to take you home so you can sleep this off."
Martin hung his head. "I have no home."
"Sure you do. Granted, it's home to twenty-"
"No, Douglas," Martin hissed. "I have no home. The house burnt down this morning."
Douglas stiffened. "What?"
"One of the kids left a smoking cigarette on the carpet and the whole place went up. My clothes, my books, everything I own is gone. That's why I'm not wearing a jacket, because my jacket went up in smoke. All I have left is my damn van and fifty quid in my wallet." He burped. "Well, fifteen now. I spent most of it on booze."
"Martin!" Douglas said as soon as he was done pushing the younger man into his car. They shouldn't be having this conversation in the snow. "Why didn't you call someone? One of your siblings?"
"Because if I needed reminders about how much I am a loser, I'd look at myself in the mirror."
Oh God, this was definitely not a conversation that should be talked about while drunk. "I'm going to take you to a hotel," Douglas said, changing the subject entirely. "Tomorrow we'll pick up your van, and then we'll sort out what we have to do."
Martin grumbled in his seat.
By the time Douglas had pulled up to a moderately priced hotel, Martin was snoring loudly and drooling on the passenger window. He refused to wake up even when Douglas shook him almost violently. "C'mon, Martin," Douglas hissed as he dragged the younger man out of his car. "I'm too old to carry you like this."
"Unf," Martin grumbled, his feet stumbling underneath him.
Once inside, Douglas dumped Martin onto one of the chairs in the lobby. "Stay here as I make arrangements."
"Unf," said Martin.
"Hello," Douglas huffed, pulling out his credit card. "One room, please."
The employee at the front desk raised an eyebrow at him, her eyes darting over the credit card, then over Martin's crumpled form on the chairs. With a drawl, she asked, "Is he consenting to this?"
Mother-
"He's drunk!" Douglas slapped his hand angrily on top of the desk. "He needs a place to stay for the night, that's it!"
The girl didn't flinch. She turned to her computer and began typing. "Just making sure," she said dully, swiping the credit card.
Douglas wasn't prone to blushing, but he felt his ears burn. He hated himself for it.
"His room," the girl drawled, handing over the card key.
Without another word he snatched up the key and strode back to Martin. The younger man had fallen asleep again and this time, Douglas was not so gentle in waking him up, and then dragging him down the hall to the elevators.
Once they got off on their floor, Martin was a little more awake, though he slumped over in Douglas' arms like a limp noodle. It was as if walking on two legs was more than he could bear. The only real difficulty in carrying Martin was because of his shortness. Douglas could already feel his back aching from the way he had to hunch to carry the shorter man.
It took some careful maneuvering to open the door, but Douglas managed it fine, though he did nearly smash Martin's head against the door frame.
"Hey," Martin huffed, staring at the frame like it offended him personally. "You almost… hit me."
"Sorry," Douglas said, not meaning it. He dropped Martin on the bed. "Okay, here you go. We don't have to fly tomorrow, so try to sleep as much as you can and I'll see you in the morning."
He hesitated only long enough to watch Martin curl in on himself. He thought about taking the young man's shoes off, but that felt rather creepy and should probably leave before the front desk lady decided to check in on them.
He pulled the door open.
Douglas jerked back as Martin came up from behind him, slamming his hand against the door, shutting it.
"Martin-!" Douglas gasped, and was suddenly cut off when Martin pressed his lips against his.
Douglas shoved him away. "What are you doing?"
"I-I-I…" Martin shook his head. "I don't know. I thought this… is what you wanted. Taking me to a hotel room, putting me on the bed…"
"What? You thought I would be cruel enough to rape you again? Are you insane?"
Martin blinked up at him. His eyes were red and puffy. "I-I don't know…"
Douglas felt himself shaking. Not from disgust, from anger. He didn't know why, and it took nearly every ounce of willpower to keep himself from punching Martin across the face. "Go to sleep, Martin," Douglas forced himself to say. He gently pushed Martin away towards the bed. "I'll talk to you in the morning."
