"Virgil, hey, come back to me. Keep counting," Remus urged and squeezed Virgil's hand and he nodded wildly a few times and gulped hard. His mouth was bone dry. He was so parched, he needed that refreshment. He didn't realize he stopped counting with Remus as his chapped lips stuck together.
Virgil said, "Fifty-two," along with Remus, and kept trying to inhale deeply with them. He had to calm down or the EMS would come and they'd know and he'd be in huge trouble and maybe get fired. He had to loosen up. How could he even relax under this pressure? How was he supposed to chill out when everything was falling apart?
"Okay, I don't think counting is working. Your hands are probably numb, right?" Remus asked, and Virgil nodded in confirmation. "Can you feel this?" Remus pressed his nails gently into the top of Virgil's neck, right where it met his skull. It sent a tingle across Virgil's skin.
"Y-yeah," Virgil swallowed dryly again, glancing at the cup on the table. "Can I just—" Virgil reached for the booze.
"You've gotta calm down first, you can't have alcohol if you're OD'ing, I'm sure you know this," Remus pushed away Virgil's outstretched hand and glided his fingers in a circle on Virgil's scalp. "Five things you can see, and be specific," Remus asked of him, moving Virgil to sit back on the couch instead of facing Remus.
"Um, you?" Virgil's entire body shuddered with tremors, causing his voice to crack.
"More specific. What on me do you see? What colour is it?" Remus prodded Virgil with a careful, steady tone.
"Your nose piercing. Uh, metallic green? And you have one of those piercings in the back of the ear. Uh, black. I can't remember the word for it. Is that good enough?" Virgil wasn't sure about piercing terminology and make those were stupid to pick since they had tasked him to describe things specifically.
"That's fine. What else do you notice in the room?" Remus kept gently grazing at the base of his skull, making his scalp prickle pleasantly, unlike the rest of his body which was a horrible burning trash fire of painful sensations. It gave him something to focus on other than the possible death, at least.
"The dark and stormy. Dark rum and ginger beer and lime with crushed ice and an extra lime wedge, which is just the way I like it. It would settle my stomach. Are you sure I can't just—"
"Virgil, stay on task, here. What can you see? Or I'm drinking it in front of you," Remus shook his head, keeping direct eye contact with Virgil.
"You piece of shit, I'll…" Virgil tried to threaten them, but they just glared back, and Virgil while gripping the back of his neck roughly, holding Virgil's gaze as their grasp pinched his skin. Right. They're a bouncer. Could break Virgil over their knee. Clearly wants to do so. Fuck.
"I'll let that go because agitation is a symptom. Two more things," Remus insisted before going back to delicate scratching at Virgil's scalp.
Virgil swallowed again and glanced around. "It's… tidier than I thought it would be. Cleaner than our break room, anyway, I'm not saying I think you're messy, I just—" Virgil started rambling and his eyes landed on his drink once more and Remus gripped at his neck again. Right. "There's a throw pillow that says 'two shots vodka', which I think is funny. Uh," Virgil looked around again.
Everything his eyes grazed over didn't seem to make sense. "The—the lamp. It's red and has a weird bulb or something in it that does a stained-glass thing on the ceiling," Virgil pointed up and glanced at Remus again. He was certain he fucked that up, and Remus would crush Virgil's skull between their thighs like a sparrow's egg. They looked so annoyed, and it was undoubtedly Virgil's fault as the only bothersome bitch in the room that Remus grappled on to.
"Four things you can feel, and I know you can't feel your feet or hands so try to be aware of the rest of you instead," Remus ordered next, still sounding intense with a low voice. They went back to the small circles with their nails in Virgil's hair.
"I… I can't…" Virgil trailed off and Remus just kept staring at him. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on his body as they asked him to. "My heart is pounding hard… My nose hurts. The bruise you squeezed on my shoulder is sore… And your nails, that one feels the nicest," Virgil listed off. He opened his eyes tentatively. Remus looked upset and tugged at Virgil's jacket and shirt to reveal a bruise.
"Shit, why didn't you say anything?" Remus hissed, carefully pulling it back up.
"When you think you're dying, a bruise isn't the top of your priority list," Virgil replied flatly, glaring at them.
"Right, fuck. Three things you can hear and how far away they sound," Remus continued.
"The, uh, bar, obviously. But it's more muffled than I would expect. It's… close, I guess? But the walls are thick or something," Virgil listed nervously, wringing his hands. He looked around again. "The overhead fan? It wobbles and I don't like that, but it makes a clinking sound. A couple feet away," He added to the list and looked around again. He wasn't sure if he could hear anything else.
There was a loud crash that made Virgil jump and gasp again. Remus grabbed Virgil's hand and took a deep breath as they held out Virgil's hand where his chest should land while inhaling. Virgil struggled to get it out that wide, and Remus held the hand in place for a few seconds before pressing in to make Virgil exhale slowly.
Virgil barely managed, but stammered out, "And th—that," with a motion of his head in the crash's direction. "It sounded right next to me, but it probably wasn't, right?" Virgil looked at Remus despairingly.
"No, that was the kitchen. Someone might've knocked over something metal. Two things you can smell. Unless you've completely killed your nose, anyway," Remus suggested next, looking pensive.
"All I smell is blood, it's all I've smelled all day, it keeps bleeding, you don't think I'm dying, do you?" Virgil asked desperately and clutched at Remus's jacket. Remus pulled at Virgil's shirt to get him to look down, and Remus showed him how to breathe another time, helping Virgil settle faster.
"No, if I had to guess it's because you've done a lot of nose-candy and have a broken nose, I swear it looks different from yesterday," Remus huffed through their nose, still staring directly at Virgil. "One thing you can taste," He held up a finger before returning it to position for Virgil's chest to meet while he breathed, which was getting easier by the second. Virgil paused, moving his tongue around in his mouth to try to taste anything.
"Blood again. Can I have my dark and stormy now?" Virgil asked, taking a deep breath just to prove he could. He was still shaking, and continued to be scared of Remus, but he didn't think he was about to die anymore.
"Yeah, I don't think you're OD-ing. I do think you're a massive addict. You not only can't stop yourself from fucking coking up at work, but you looked at your drink more than anything else in here. We have a striper calendar in here for god's sakes," Remus tapped the wall with their knuckle and groaned when Virgil reached for his glass instead of seeking at what Remus motioned to.
"I've always drank, everyone does… and I can stop myself from doing coke, but I get more work done and perform stronger," Virgil defended himself, eyes darting away from Remus.
"Yuh-huh. Sure," Remus drawled deliberately, scowling at Virgil critically. "So you lost your wallet and got bruised up on the way home, huh?" They scanned Virgil up and down, tapping their chin. Virgil took a soul-warming sip while Remus pondered whatever they were thinking about. It was just as perfect and glorious as his drink looked while he longed for it just out of reach. His throat felt so much better after scratching that itch with the smooth rum and crisp ginger beer. He sighed in relief and sunk back a little, taking another deep breath that was easier to appreciate with a less-raw throat. "I think you got mugged, Virge," Remus said after a minute of watching Virgil drink appreciatively at his dark and stormy.
"Shit, really?" Virgil peered up from getting lost in his drink.
"Do you mind if I check and make sure you didn't get stabbed somewhere and just haven't noticed yet?" Remus tugged at Virgil's jacket between two fingers. Virgil chugged some tasty liquor before putting it on the table and peeled off his hoodie and shirt to let them check. He didn't think he had any further damage, but and it's not like he checked. He was also sweltering hot and relished the freedom. He didn't appreciate how sticky and gross he felt so soon after a shower, but some cool air on his skin helped how hot he felt. Remus guided Virgil's torso around to see his back and front and sides.
"Those scars?" Remus raised an eyebrow at Virgil's chest.
"Unrelated," Virgil grunted and crossed his arms over his chest swiftly, covering up the marks.
"Well, these bruises are fucking yikes," Remus grimaced at a mark on Virgil's back. "I'm sorry I squeezed that, it's easily the worst. Some of these have a weird break in the skin that all look the same, I think you got straight-up pistol-whipped. You're lucky you weren't shot," Remus drew back with an odd expression. "Does anywhere else hurt?" Remus shoved Virgil's shirt back into his hands when he tried to reach for his drink again. Virgil scowled at Remus and put his shirt on.
"My hip really hurts. Like the side. The back of my head is sore, too," Virgil scratched his head and moved for his drink once more, not blocked by Remus this time. "Well, unless I had cash, I lost nothing of value, at least," He sighed in resignation.
"You also got your ass kicked," Remus pointed out. Virgil took another big sip of his drink.
"I'm fine," Virgil muttered dismissively, staring at the floor.
"You are? Grand news, let's install your ass at the bar as usual with all the loud noises and neon signs and shit," Remus intimidated him darkly and Virgil recoiled at the concept of alone. "Right," They deadpanned, their eyes locked steadily on Virgil's wide-open ones. "Well, I have to get back out there, either way. If you don't come out on your own, Janus or I will come get you later. I'll get that protein sent in here for you, it'll help. You're right, we know you're good for it," Remus patted Virgil on the back twice and stood up from the chair. Virgil stared up at Remus, feeling lost. He was going to be alone back here?
"There's a camera, so don't be shady. Considering you're shuddering and you look like a fucking ghost on top of the fact that you weigh eight whole pounds, I'm not worried about you even leaving your seat," They pointed to the camera and adjusted their jacket before heading back out of the room. Remus flashed Virgil a brief grin before opening the door to the bar and leaving.
The chatter from the bar was loud when Remus opened the door and Virgil drew back from it and hid under his hood. He thought he was fine. He felt fine. Virgil was fine. He weighed more than eight pounds. He just didn't have any appetite and it hurt to eat. Virgil took a long swig of the drink. He examined the visible bruises from what poked out from under his T-shirt. He'll be in long sleeves and high necks for weeks from the look of it. Bruises appear easily and take a long time to fade on him.
He paused and scried his dark and stormy while he pondered. Wait, shit. If he wanted more alcohol, he'd have to brave the bar. Everything was still so loud, though. And it would remain loud until he got drunk.
Fuck, this was a conundrum. Maybe that's the trap, isn't it? If Virgil wants to drink, he has to tolerate the bar to order. So he won't have another absolute fucking meltdown in front of the other patrons by design. Devious bastards. It was a smart play. Nobody wanted more of Virgil gasping for air while fully collapsed on the bar. Which was reasonable. He couldn't blame them for their schemes.
Virgil slipped into his hoodie sleeves since he was getting chilly and dragged himself up on the couch. He had his phone, at least. Virgil queued up a song at the bar jukebox to listen to through the wall. Looking at his cell phone screen was also overwhelming, so he slid it in his pocket and curled up with the vodka throw pillow after a sip of his drink. Virgil closed his eyes and leaned back.
If he wanted to drink anymore tonight, he'd have to finish calming down. They made that clear. Remus got him this far with just counting and observing stuff. That's… simple logic stuff, right? Breathing deeply and thinking analytical things.
He glanced around the room. He could… count all the square things and breathe slow. The TV is square-ish. Did that count? He decided rectangles counted. The table was number two. The nudie calendar was square. Wow, masculine and feminine. Equal opportunity objectification. That's kind of neat, though Virgil wasn't a fan. Number three. Virgil kept counting the things in the room while breathing gently.
All the deep breaths made him yawn. The door was a rectangle. There was a desk back there with a computer monitor. That was another two. Virgil took another sip at his drink and laid back on the couch. His head was too heavy for this. There was a rug on the floor with a geometric pattern. There were lots of squares on it to count.
Virgil started from the center and worked his way around the rug, but his eyes were getting heavy. He could close them for a bit. That was part of quieting down, he was pretty certain. Virgil shoved the throw pillow under his head and shuffled to get more comfortable before closing his eyes.
— ≛ —
The couch shifted under Virgil and he moaned tiredly as he was jostled from sleep, rubbing his face. He bumped his nose on accident and hissed in pain. Virgil yawned and moved to sit up. Shit, he fell asleep. He hauled himself up somewhat and searched the room for what woke him.
The bartender was sitting with one leg crossed over the other, looking at their phone next to him on the couch. There was a glass of water and a plastic basket with something inside wrapped up in tinfoil near his sweating, nearly emptied dark and stormy on the table. He dragged himself upright enough to take another drink at it. The ice melted, and it tasted watered down, but he was thirsty. He finished it and peeked at the bartender, not sure what was happening.
"Can I help you?" They asked, not looking away from their phone.
"N—no," Virgil shook his head automatically. "Well, those are mine, right?" He pointed at the tray and the water.
"Yes, and you're not going anywhere without finishing both," The bartender replied briskly. Virgil exhaled harshly and drew the basket toward himself. He unwrapped the tinfoil deliberately and there were six unsauced boneless wings and six carrot and celery sticks. Man, he hated carrots. Virgil began with those when the bartender scowled at him for poking at the carrots with aversion.
Virgil couldn't taste much of the food. It all had that distinct iron taste of blood from his nose. Virgil sniffed hard to attempt to clear the bloody scent, but it stayed metallic. Carrots taste better with the blood element, at least. The vegetables crunched loudly despite trying to eat quietly, but the bartender… fuck, what was their name? The bouncer said this. Virgil was freaking the fuck out earlier and was having trouble remembering.
He hesitantly ate celery stick while glancing at them out of the side of his eye. He just barely finished a single drink over… Virgil checked for some indication of the time. There was a plain white analog clock over the TV. Lord, okay, with how much he slept already today, he thought he wouldn't sleep for a week and he still conked out again. It was almost inconceivable.
He tugged back his thick sleeve to read his watch. His heart rate had been high for a while, enough that his watch clocked him as exercising before he passed out, but he wanted to see how much he'd slept already. Wow, nine hours according to this thing. He released his sleeve and picked up a boneless wing with the napkin he found under the tinfoil. He took a tentative taste and caught the bartender gawking at him with a puzzled face.
"Uh, what did I do?" Virgil asked quietly, not able to match the bartender's inquisitive gaze.
"What's the point of the health-tracking watch, exactly, when you're clearly so determined to die young?" They demanded incredulously.
"I—I'm not," Virgil stammered out a response defensively.
"Sure, sure, you don't get blackout drunk every night and do coke every day. Right, I mixed you up with a different customer. Happens all the time. Dreadfully common and affordable hobbies," The bartender replied sardonically while they waved their hand with an agitated expression.
"I also wouldn't know how much sleep I get otherwise," Virgil mumbled in explanation. "I slept a lot today, see?" He yanked back his sleeve again to show them. He didn't know why he felt as if he had something to prove.
"What exactly is your standard for 'a lot'? That's an hour more than most people. Remus sleeps that much every day," The bartender looked vaguely bored and glanced back it their smart phone. Virgil dropped his arm and inspected the bartender in confusion. It didn't look like they were lying.
"I… thought it was," Virgil mumbled, furrowing his eyebrows. "Wow, they… sleep a lot. That's strange for every night, isn't it?" He glimpsed at the bartender's impassive expression.
"It's expected with the job. Some individuals need more sleep than others," The bartender shrugged. "What do you think is usual?" They asked disinterestedly.
"Most of my co-workers sleep six-ish hours, that's what I assumed was normal," Virgil offered, having another nibble of the chicken.
"Six hours is the minimum the human body needs, but go off, I guess," They replied flippantly. Oh. If that was true, then that was bad. If some people needed more, it could be others needed less sleep, and he was one of them. Virgil hadn't slept over five hours in a while, so it made sense. "What do you get every night?" The bartender asked, and Virgil cringed. He didn't want to answer that question. "Just show me the watch again," They flipped their fingers and tugged on Virgil's sleeve. Virgil sighed and held up his arm, and the bartender swiped through the menus.
"I—that's your blood pressure? Four hours a night with random small naps? Does the hoodie add twenty pounds? How are you alive?" The bartender had an expression Virgil couldn't parse after reviewing his health status. He released Virgil's hand and tugged open the unzipped jacket to study his torso. "Remus said you didn't need to go to the ER, but…" They trailed off, frowning deeply as they released the hoodie flap. "I'll give you credit where credit's due, Virgil. Other than obviously being an addict, you seem so ordinary. Not at death's door," Their face looked sullen and unsettled now.
"I'm not an addict and I'm not dying," Virgil grunted, taking a furious bite of the chicken and shifting his hoodie sleeve in place with a shake of his arm.
"Right, right, so if I offered to make you that other dark and—"
"Would you?" Virgil asked hopefully. "Wait, no, I—" He cut himself off and smacked himself in the face.
"No, you what?" The bartender had a clipped tone.
"No, I don't need it," Virgil finished his sentence through gritted teeth and slumped against the couch. He shoved an entire boneless wing in his mouth and chewed angrily.
Maybe Virgil needed to find a new bar, anyway. One with less judgemental bartenders. Though, they've also been amazing to him for no reason. Yeah, he tipped well, but the bouncer could have kicked him out of the bar for the panic attack. Or just called the EMS, but they didn't because they knew Virgil was afraid of doctors.
And… damnit, Virgil swore Remus told him? The bartender's name was J-something. Well, whoever they were, they might be prickly, but they've been more than gracious with Virgil. He wouldn't get that at any other bar. Hell, he could get punted from the new one, still. He should have nursed his liquor more. Virgil glared at the drained glass with contempt while he ate.
"If you choke just to spite me, Virgil, don't think I won't call 911," The bartender's curt voice seemed loud in the empty room. Virgil narrowed his eyes at them and ate deliberately. "Do you actually weigh that much? I've never seen you without a jacket," They asked, sounding concerned.
"I—uh, yeah, I do. I mean, I didn't weigh myself yet this week," Virgil shrugged off his jacket from one arm and let it fall behind him so the bartender could see. "Is it really that bad? I'm not that tall or anything," Virgil checked his torso along with the oddly invested bartender next to him and it all looked normal to Virgil.
"I don't think any adult, especially who drinks as you do, should weigh that little," The bartender stated in a flat tone.
"Heh, yeah, I'm a light weight but I'm not a lightweight," Virgil joked and went for another piece of chicken. "I just don't have an appetite unless I'm drunk, and I can't exactly order anything to eat by the time I get there," He shook his head.
"You could order it before the kitchen closes and we'll keep it warm if it's that much of an issue," The bartender… Janus! That was the name. Janus offered kindly.
"The idea of food normally turns my stomach. I tried that once at a different bar with food, but I never succeeded. It's hard to motivate myself to do something that hurts," Virgil exhaled and returned to picking at his food. "I'm only eating these because I was threatened into it," Virgil grumbled sourly.
"And you'll keep it down?" Janus furrowed their eyebrows.
"Um, I hope so. I've been feeling sick all day. It would be easier with… uh," Virgil trailed off and glanced at the empty glass. Janus stared at Virgil for a second, seeming to contemplate something as they registered Virgil's longing stare at the empty glass.
"You've gotten banned from how many bars, now?" Janus's face dropped further as they observed Virgil.
"I don't remember. That doesn't mean much, I don't recall… basically anything," Virgil shrugged dismissively. "I don't know why I got barred out either, but I assume I did something stupid while drunk. I've been trying hard to be less reactionary, so I don't do it again. This is the last bar in walking distance and it's already a thirty-minute walk," He took another bite of chicken, gazing at the floor in shame.
"I'll get you a ginger beer and lime, how about that?" Janus offered genially, putting down their phone.
"Without… with no rum?" Virgil whispered, slipping his arm in his jacket.
"You don't need it, right?" Janus drawled sarcastically, glaring at Virgil with an a fierce gleam in their eye. Virgil swallowed heavily and looked away. He nodded slowly and crunched at a celery stick. Janus got up from the couch and took the cup with them. Virgil still shirked back from the sounds of the bar as they exited. Was it always that loud out there? Janus returned shortly with a full glass of deep brown bubbly liquid, crushed ice, and two limes. It looked the same, but Virgil knew it wouldn't taste right.
"Thanks. I'll, uh, I'll be careful," Virgil watched as Janus slid the cup down on the table. They were also carrying what looked like a hard cider. Virgil bit his lip. That… wasn't for him, was it? Janus twisted off the cap and took a long sip and glowered at Virgil pointedly.
Virgil felt cold and swallowed hard. He started coughing and reached for the ginger beer to scratch the itch in his throat. But it tasted off without rum. But it would help his stomach, probably? He didn't need the rum. It would be tasty with that hard cider, though. Ginger and apples together was a nice combo. "Is… that good?" Virgil pointed to the hard cider bottle.
"Very," Janus hummed and settled back into the couch. "It's crisp and refreshing," They added, pulling their phone back out. Virgil had nothing intentionally with that low of an ABV in lord knows how long. He must have been a teenager the last time he remembered even wanting it. He cared little for hard cider in the first place. Why the fuck did he want it?
He sipped at his ginger beer and picked up a lime to squeeze on a chicken wing before dropping the wedge in his drink. The chicken was a little better with the lime, but everything maintained a hint of blood. The ginger beer kind of helped wash the iron taste from his throat, even without the rum.
Virgil glanced back at the hard cider again. His drink was wrong without alcohol. The cider would help, right? It would have that little bite and stringency it was missing. Fuck. He did think it needed the liquor. This… might be a problem.