Virgil caught himself staring at the hard cider and cussed inwardly, trying to focus back on his boneless wings. There weren't that many, but it was hard to eat any food with how much it hurt and the fervent thought that cider would taste better and feel good, unlike the food. Fuck. Everyone drinks. Virgil is not addicted. He's not an addict. He is just fine. It's just what he enjoys doing. It's how he gets through the day. Virgil's hands trembled again. Son of a bitch. Damnit, body, how is he supposed to convince Janus he was alright if it kept doing stupid shit?
"You're shaking again, Virgil." Janus pointed the neck cider bottle at him and had a mild smug expression. It took everything Virgil had to not steal the frosty glass bottle when it got close. "People who are okay don't start shaking when someone near them has a hard cider," They said firmly, arching an eyebrow at him.
"'m fine." Virgil shot Janus a glare and crunched a celery stick.
"Tell me one more time and I'll believe you," Janus replied curtly and crossed their legs in a prim manner. "We both know you need to check into rehab, but only one of us can say it," They added after a moment of staring at Virgil.
"I—No! I can't! I'd get fired! I'd lose my condo, the property taxes are insane on it, I won't have any money, I'll—I'll—It would ruin my life!" Virgil stammered out defensively, his arms shaking so much he couldn't keep them still.
"What about your life hasn't already been ruined? Your tolerance will build up more and more, and you don't have the health to manage it. You are going to have a stroke, a seizure, a heart attack, or painful liver failure and die at any given moment. What's the point?" Janus half-shouted at Virgil, throwing the arm not holding the cider up in the air in defeat. His bitter tone tainted every word with suffering.
"When will it be a gram a day? A handle a day? How many days until you hit the slopes after work? It was hard to walk here, right? Wouldn't a rail or two make it easier? Then you're drinking while you're high out of your mind and your liver fails on the spot. There's no happy ending here." Janus slammed the cider down on the table next to the couch and Virgil jumped from the noise, staring at the bottle and the bit of cider running down the side that came out from the impact.
"I'm—I'm keeping an eye on it!" Virgil's voice wavered, and he curled in on himself, putting down the basket beside him on the couch.
"Maybe you keep getting banned from bars because the people there are sick of watching you die, Virgil," Janus's tone was sharp and cut Virgil deeply. He didn't want to make people feel like that. Wait, shit, he was going to get banned! Where the fuck is he going to drink now? "See, and you're probably more worried about where you're getting your next drink than you are your health, I saw that look." Janus glared at him. Virgil bit his tongue and scowled right back.
"Prove to me you're okay, then." Janus picked up the half-empty bottle of hard cider and held it out to Virgil. "Go on, we both know you're lying when you say you don't need it. You've drunk nothing under twenty-proof in this bar, and you've been eyeing this eight-proof swill since I brought it in. Give in. Drink it." They wiggled the glass bottle in Virgil's face temptingly.
Virgil held his arms tight and bit his inner lip. This was stupid. He didn't want it… right? Virgil tried to loosen up, and he nearly made a move to take it. Fuck. He needed it. He needed that. It would make him feel better. If nothing else, at least he won't be stuck with his eyes locked on the bottleneck and thinking about how nice it would be to feel to drink it. Virgil felt like trash, and if he could just take a sip…
Janus watched him flinch and sweat and gasp and fight the entire time, which certainly did not help his case. He just wasn't feeling well. The cider would make things better. He didn't need it. It would help. Why couldn't Janus understand that? He needed the support.
It would be so easy to sock them in the face and steal that drink, then bolt. Virgil didn't have to explain himself to anyone. He clenched his fist and ground his jaw, weighing the options. He'd certainly need to go to a new bar after that, and Janus could sue him. And he craved to prove this to Janus so badly, on a deep level Virgil couldn't comprehend. He shouldn't. Even if it would feel good. Janus knew too much about him. Things they could easily use against Virgil.
His mouth felt so dry. He just wanted a sip. It would fix things. Virgil accidentally let go and swerved for his ginger beer instead and took a massive swig before putting it back down. It wasn't the same. Virgil moved into a death-grip so strong that he felt his nails digging into his arm so he wouldn't make the same mistake twice. He couldn't prove anything if he drank it, even if he longed for it.
Virgil's vision might have blacked out for a moment, but he was still gripping tight after what was either a long blink or dimension-hopping. Janus finally pulled the bottle away and pounded the rest of the drink, chucking it clear across the room into a recycling bin in one smooth motion. Virgil watched it arc and heard a clatter in the bin, flinching when it shattered, and he genuinely couldn't tell if he cringed from the breaking glass or the conflicting feeling of taking a loss to win.
"See?" Virgil was still shaking when he finally turned back to Janus, but a proud and smug smirk stretched across his face. He proved he would not take a drink just for the sake of drinking.
"If I brought in some top-shelf whiskey, you'd punch me for it, and I'm positive of that. You kept clenching your fist at me," Janus stated flatly, and Virgil's expression dropped immediately. "No one has to fight that hard to resist cheap hard cider, Virgil. No one. I'm proud of you for fighting it, but if it was that hard for something you don't even want, what's it going to be like for something you do?" Janus asked emphatically, shooting Virgil an intense look. Oh, shit. Virgil's eyes widened, and he shot to cover his mouth and hide his feelings.
"If I brought in a proper top-shelf whiskey sour, just the way you like it with the orange bitters, minus the simple, what would you do?" Janus asked expressly with a hard-set stoney look at Virgil. He'd punch them for it. He'd absolutely hit him for it. Fuck, what was all that god damn effort for if it didn't even prove anything? Janus made a knowing expression and nodded, sitting back slightly. Virgil bit his lip. There had to be a means of making this all stop. Virgil looked at Janus up and down, trying to clock them. There's always an out.
"How much?" Virgil asked quietly. Money was the most effective thing he could offer. "Everyone has a price, right? How much to drop this? And just… let me live my life?" He stared at the couch and tugged at his hoodie. He couldn't meet Janus's eyes, locking on the floor instead. This felt wrong. But the alternative…
"Virgil, are you putting a price on your own life that you're going to pay someone else for? How much for my dignity? Or for my sanity? How much for the sorrow and pain when you die at the bar next month? Certainly more money than your condo taxes, if I even entertained the idea. Even if you stop giving that prick hundreds a week for your fucking coke habit, you still couldn't afford it." Janus crossed their arms and gave Virgil a piercing look while Virgil glared right back.
"And I'm sure you'd love to storm out of here in anger and find somewhere else to drink, but I bet you're too tired from your panic attack and crashing from all the cocaine." Janus pointed at him, raising an eyebrow. God damnit. Well, he wasn't thinking about leaving in righteous indignation, but he was too fucking exhausted either way. Walking here took everything out of him. But he didn't like being turned down, and he enjoyed being clocked once again even less. How much did this bastard know?
"Why do you care, then?" Virgil scowled at him, his fierce anger darkening his tone. "Why now?" He added, a small crack in his voice betraying what he didn't want to share.
"I've always cared, but I'm dreadful at showing it and you aren't exactly a champion of remembering it. I don't know what you're running from, but we've talked a lot. Take a long vacation and check into rehab. I can tell you hate being alone, you will have lots of company there. Tell your work you're going to the Caribbean. If that smartwatch was anything close to accurate, and it probably is, you are running out of time," Janus sounded desolate, all that harsh recrimination that dripped from their words before faded into sorrow with every word they spoke.
Virgil didn't know how to feel. He just stared blankly at Janus. He couldn't see how to respond, either. This was new and unexpected. He knew how to deal with anger. This was… Virgil could only gawk at Janus, completely dumbfounded by the situation.
"A convincing argument on your end," Janus's sarcasm sounded stale and empty. "Finish your food, Virgil. I'll serve you another drink if you manage to make it to the bar, like I always do. I'd still rather continue to keep an eye on you than letting you go destroy yourself somewhere else. If you fall asleep again, that's fine, too. Probably even preferable," Janus sighed and pushed themselves off the couch. They gave Virgil a last look before they headed out into the bar. The noise with the door being momentarily open was overwhelming, so Virgil held his hands over his ears for a while after the door closed.
Virgil thought he was fine. Why did Janus sound so right, though? Nothing they said was far off. Something in him is screaming that Janus was wrong and judgemental and he was doing just great. But he didn't feel fine. He was shaking in a bar break room, struggling to eat six whole boneless chicken wings, nursing a ginger beer for his upset stomach. He had a panic attack and passed out earlier. The bouncer, who he didn't even realize he'd ever hung out with, had to help him calm down because he was convinced he was dying. His bartender, who he barely remembered despite talking what sounded like every night, was telling him it was a wonder he was even alive. Fuck, someone probably mugged him last night and didn't remember. None of that is okay.
He always drank. He'd been drinking since he could get a hold of a bottle. His co-worker introduced him to a line or two when he was too hungover to deal with work. It was a great pick-me-up. He wasn't the only one at the office who did it, too. It was normal with the staff. They both got promoted, so it was working for them. Virgil made enough money now that finances were never a problem and he could do whatever he wanted. It's what he always wished for, to be completely free and have options. He worked for years and years for this. But it seemed like all he chose was to do lines and get faced.
Was Virgil running from something? Janus was right about almost everything else. Well, Virgil wasn't sure about the lonely thing. He didn't like sitting home alone, but who did? That was pretty normal, right? He was more interested in why he wanted that cider so badly. He already had a drink earlier. It wasn't that he was afraid Janus wouldn't serve him any more alcohol tonight, was it? If he was addicted, the drink he had already should be enough to sate the urge, right? Or… was he trying to rationalize again? How much rationalizing does Virgil do? Virgil stared at his shaking hands, feeling unsure and starting to panic.
Dealing with this was too much. He didn't want to. But he couldn't deal with the bar to get a drink, and he didn't bring any coke with him. Being introspective was painful and made his brain run in the direction that he knew only inebriation healed. He wanted that drink so he could feel right in the world again. Virgil had to handle something either way, didn't he? He didn't like looking at his life and choices. He enjoyed floating from one day to the next… Well, did he like that?
Virgil sure didn't feel happy right now. He was stewing in so many difficult emotions he could barely name them all. He was depressed, confused, overwhelmed, pissed, and still feeling unable to process anything. Everything feels like such a big fucking mess. It's even hard to eat the accursed chicken and some vegetable sticks because of his stupid fucking stomach problems that definitely started after he picked up the coke. It's been at least twenty minutes and he wasn't close to done eating.
But he was having fun, right? Forgetting every night to live a fresh day free of regret and full of opportunity tomorrow? Was the fun even worth it? He doesn't remember what enjoyable events he might be experiencing. Is he even doing them? Virgil curled up into a ball on the couch, gripping his legs and resting his head on his knees. Things were okay… right?
Nothing was okay. He shouldn't have had to be saved from himself by strangers. Well, they weren't strangers. They felt like strangers, which also wasn't okay. He thought he liked forgetting every night. Was the concept even good in the first place? Virgil regretted breathing, so it seemed smart. What if he was doing bad things, though? He wouldn't know. The world was a hellscape, and he just found the niche that made him happy. But he was regretting it now. What if he met someone cool? How many potential friends had he made? Had he ever gone home with someone he had a connection with? Janus said he went home with people. He couldn't do that sober, but…
Couldn't or wouldn't? That haunted him. He'd been asked that before, and he hated that question so deeply. So he was nervous—well, more than nervous—often. And there were things he couldn't do. And he'd figured out how to do them, by being drunk. But maybe there were other ways to do them. It wasn't that he wouldn't. He couldn't without help. And maybe he let his help take over his life a bit. Because he was unsure what he even did anymore other than 'getting help' and dealing with the fallout from saying 'help'. Ugh. That couldn't be right.
Well, he needed the help. He liked the help. He thought the help was fun, and it got him far in life. Why fuck with a good thing? He had a good thing. So maybe there were downsides, but they were fine. He'd always managed with them in the past. Wait and see regularly worked for him. He owned his condo; he had lots of money, even with the amount he spent on blow, and… well, that was it, actually.
Virgil also had some know-it-all bouncer and bartender up in his face. But they were the first he remembered in a while that cared enough to try, even if he was fine. And Janus was a good bartender. And Remus was really nice for a big scary person. Janus always made his drinks exactly how he liked them. Virgil preferred to stay around them. He felt a little like he fit in here. Like he was wanted.
Maybe Virgil needed… other hobbies. Or to… dial it back a bit. He didn't need to stop. Yeah. He only had to be more careful. Ski less at work, drink less at night. Just enough to get by or something. He didn't have to stop. No, he was good. There should be fewer downsides if he did them less, right? Well… if Janus was to be believed, maybe not. He wasn't that unhealthy, was he? It had now been a half hour and he still couldn't finish the stupid tray of food. Virgil's blood pressure was still high. He was still exhausted after nine hours of sleep. Fuck. So he needed to… eat more, exercise more, and sleep more. He could do that, right?
Not anything dependent on his hip for a while, though. His shoulders also hurt like shit. And his head was pounding. The idea of exercise made him want to blow bloody boneless chicken chunks. He was too sore to even walk here. Shit, how was he going to get home? One thing at a time, Virgil. Prove that you're okay. Finish the stupid cold chicken wings.
Virgil took a big bite of chicken and chased it with his ginger beer. Chewing the celery was painful. His jaw hurt more than he had realized, but he successfully ate all three sticks. It was another fifteen fucking minutes, but Virgil finished the tray and most of his ginger beer. He sat back on the couch, feeling proud of himself. And cold. He pulled his legs up to himself and zipped them into the hoodie to form a giant hoodie-ball of Virgil.
A yawn cracked Virgil's face wide open and shifted to lie down on the couch instead of upright. He could possibly get some headway on that sleep thing as Janus said, but Virgil wasn't sure he could walk home to get to bed. Also, it was late. And that would be a long walk in the dark. And he believed Remus that he got mugged last night, since all the facts lined up. So now, he was deeply dismayed about walking home alone, and he wasn't drunk enough to deal with that fact. He didn't need any new fears. He had too much to handle already.
Was getting a cab for a little over a mile away ridiculous? It sounded stupid. Virgil didn't want to wait outside for the ride. And what about the drivers? Could he trust the drivers? He didn't prefer to get into a car with a stranger. They could just drive off with him anywhere! How did anyone even do that? That was so dangerous! How could people trust strangers like that?
"You've finished the food finally, but revereted to the fetal position, huh?" Remus asked as they came into the room and Virgil cowered from the sound under the two-shots throw pillow.
"I thought maybe I should get some sleep because Janus was so worried, but if you're right about the mugging, and I think you are, I'm scared to walk home, and I've always been terrified of getting in cars with strangers. I wouldn't even take the bus as a kid because you're in the metal box going faster than man was designed to go and you're putting your life in this stranger's hands, even as an adult the bus is scary, and who's to say the stranger will even take you to where they said they'd take you, and I don't know why people do that in the first place it seems absolutely insane when you think about it but that doesn't help me get home how am I supposed to get home am I just stuck here I finished the food but I'm still trapped!" Virgil rambled out what felt like all in one breath, taking in a raspy gasp.
"You're really laid back while drunk, man, I think I see how things got this bad." Remus sat down on the couch next to him and put their hand on Virgil's elbow, giving him a small reassuring squeeze.
"Yeah! It helps me! I don't know why you're saying anything is bad, things are fine! It's fun! I'm going to dial it back and sleep more and eat more and after I heal up do the exercising thing but I guess I need to gain weight first for before I exercise, anyway, Janus says I'm dangerously underweight or something and I don't know about that, I thought I looked okay other than the fact that I bruise really easily so I usually have purple and green marks somewhere on me and I'm kind of pale, people joke I'm a vampire sometimes but I actually used to be hemophobic before I started getting nosebleeds all the time and sort of settled down on the concept of blood but if I see a lot I still freak out, I can just handle paper-cuts and nose bleeds now, which is an upgrade and all but—"
"Virgil, Jesus Christ, you need to take breaks to breathe when you're talking," Remus shook him from his arm. "Are you all wrapped up because you're scared or cold? Because I don't mind snuggling," They offered, wiggling their fingers at Virgil as if that would somehow convince him. Virgil paused and stared at them disbelievingly. They just… out of nowhere?
"I—uh, aren't we—I mean… I'm sorry but I don't remember hanging out with you at all and I'm also sort of weird about contact when I'm sober because the coke makes me so sensitive and it feels like I don't know you and I know that's not true and I guess I don't know it just feels weird? Maybe? It's weird, right? Maybe I'm just weird, I really want to accept and all but—" Virgil rambled on and Remus just grabbed him by the elbow and pulled him into the crook under their arm. Huh. Remus was warm. It wasn't so bad, now that he was doing it. Remus was really careful about the location of their arm and the amount of pressure on Virgil, and it didn't hurt at all.
"Dangerously underweight, huh? So you're going to cut back and try to be healthier?" Remus asked offhandedly. Virgil nodded nervously. "I know a lot about health stuff. Obviously, I work out a ton. Where are you at?" Remus looked down at him. Virgil pulled his sleeve to show Remus his fitness watch. They went through the menus and their face dropped further at every new screen. That didn't seem particularly promising.
"Uh, dude, I'm sorry to say this, but I don't know how much cutting back is going to help. I'm not sure if you know this, but along with heart issues, cocaine causes arteries to harden. If you want to get healthier, you need to quit the blow. I don't think you can just step back to monthly or whatever you intended, I thought Janus was overreacting at first but… those numbers are really, really bad," Remus explained, their voice tainted with a glum quality masked under the upbeat demeanor. Virgil yanked his arm away with a grumble.
"What the fuck do you know?" Virgil scoffed, but he wasn't mad enough to move away. Virgil was cold and tired, and laying on Remus was very nice.
"I had a stint with coke before. A few months. I failed at quitting three times until it finally stuck the fourth time. I wasn't a daily user or anything, but my doctor explained all this stuff when I failed to quit the second time because I had a mild pre-existing heart condition. It's addictive. I had to completely overthrow my entire diet and lifestyle to recover, and the endorphin high with a heavy workout wasn't a good sub for coke, but it was better than nothing. It's how I ended up a bouncer, actually. I got swole." Remus patted Virgil gently and pulled him in a little closer. He was so warm now, and Virgil uncurled partially from his tight ball, slipping out of his hoodie.
"I was just going to… not drink so much at night and do less snow and take care of myself better," Virgil mumbled his health plans, realizing how weak it sounded out loud as soon as he said it.
"What's stopping you from taking care of yourself now?" Remus asked with an arched eyebrow. Shit. Virgil hadn't thought of that.
"Uh," Virgil stalled. He actually had no clue why it didn't occur to him before. Or if it did already occur to him, and he forgot? Or if he started once, and it didn't work out. He should have considered this before for his health. Shouldn't he have realized he needed to take better care of himself before?
"I think you can't do that stuff as it is because the side-effects are too harsh, but your addiction is coming up with excuses to not stop." Remus patted Virgil on the head, and Virgil glared up at them in response. "What? I've been there." Remus shrugged dismissively.
"I'm not a fucking addict, okay? I've got a house and a job. I'm well respected at work. I'm fine," Virgil insisted harshly, bunching back up under Remus's arm.
"Addict means you can't quit easily, not that you're homeless and broke with no respect," Remus rolled their eyes.
"I can… I can quit," Virgil mumbled, chewing on his lip. Yeah, he didn't believe that himself. Not after tonight after two people told him he's dying and he still can't stop thinking about it and nearly punched someone for hard cider of all things. He shrunk into himself and gripped the pillow. "Okay, well, it's manageable," Virgil sighed, feeling absolutely defeated.
"Does getting sequestered to a bar break room because you had a panic attack and continue to be overwhelmed to leave the room count as manageable? Because where's the fucking bar?" Remus sounded annoyed, gripping the couch arm with their other hand. "Is your bar at dead? Because if you can't recover from it, the bar's too low," They stated with an agonizing finality. Remus rubbed Virgil's bicep gently, careful of the bruises nearby. "Come on, that was a bad panic attack. Your heart was going so fast I thought you were going into cardiac arrest." Remus looked at Virgil quizzically.
"I don't get why the two of you are going out of your way to help me. This is your break time, right? Shouldn't you be on your phone or something? Shouldn't you have just kicked me onto the street when I had a panic attack? I can't follow this." Virgil shook his head slowly as he stared at the floor.
"We didn't use to try so hard, no. We got attached after getting to know you, I guess. I think Janus is a little freaked out that he enabled you for so long. I mean, other than looking like a ghost, you seemed fine. Maybe everyone seems fine until you look close enough, though," Remus mused, pulling Virgil into their arms again after he had balled up out of their way. Virgil didn't want to fight it, though. He felt warm and cozy, and Remus's touch didn't hurt.
"After a nap, you always recovered from a panic attack in the past and you were back out at the bar a few hours later. We thought you had a panic disorder at first, though, uh, I still think you do, considering the hysteric rambling. I'll give you a ride home, by the way. If you live close enough to walk, then it'll be barely out of my way. I'll convince Janus to let you stay until I'm done working. Unless you did something shady, anyway, I won't be able to convince him if you went to the office computer or whatever," Remus offered, which was really kind of them, and took Virgil aback for a moment at the sincerity. He also realized Janus used he/him pronouns if Remus used them for him. Virgil didn't have the guts to ask what pronouns Remus used, though.
"I literally haven't left the couch, you were right earlier," Virgil admitted quietly. He didn't appreciate how everyone seemed to be reasonable this evening but himself. "What's keeping you from driving off with me and murdering me in a ditch, though?" He accused, feeling a little sick. He gripped his stomach and tried to breathe deep.
"I've been on camera with you a few hours, I've been trying to convince you to be healthier, you tip great and don't have money on you, and Janus might actually kill me if I hurt you. He's determined. Harming you is a net loss for me all-round," Remus listed off some reasons, twisting his free finger in the air and popping up a new one with each reason.
"I'm… suspicious that you could answer that with no hesitation," Virgil looked at them sideways, still holding his stomach.
"I just think about that kind of stuff, too. Sorta saddles with lots of intrusive thoughts." Remus shrugged dismissively. "I know you don't remember it, but we've been friends for a few weeks now. There's blurry footage of you after hours with us as proof." They motioned with their head to the camera in the room's corner, near the ceiling.
Virgil swallowed hard and took a few deep breaths to ebb back the sick feeling before responding. "No… I don't think you'd lie about that," He sighed and nestled against Remus again. Virgil had the feeling he'd been here before, even if he couldn't remember it. It seemed familiar and safe, other than Virgil feeling deeply affected by the contact alone. "Can I ask you something?" Virgil looked up at Remus.
"What's up?" Remus replied casually, keeping Virgil close.
"Janus thinks I hate being alone, but I don't… I don't know if I feel that way or not. Is it really as obvious as he implied it was?" Virgil asked tiredly. He had a feeling he knew the answer.
"You wanna go back to my place and stay the night?" Remus offered, raising an eyebrow at Virgil.
"Sure, but that's not what I…" Virgil agreed automatically and trailed off. He froze while it took his brain a second to catch up. "That wasn't a genuine offer, huh," He whispered, feeling dejected.
"I actually don't mind as long as you don't horf in my bed, but it's a Tuesday night and I imagine you have work tomorrow. Also, you absolutely can't bring coke into my apartment. I'm not judging, but I don't know if my willpower would last if I saw you using… or if there was a bag of the uncut shit you have in reach," Remus replied nonchalantly with a small shrug.
"I don't bring it to the bar with me so I can't get drunk and decide to do a bump." Virgil shook his head, but it made him dizzy and Remus gripped on to keep Virgil steady. The pressure wasn't bad when it was spread out and tender like this. "I… have an emergency bag hidden in my desk at work. Since I kept waking up in other people's beds and all. I've even got a backup suit there. I have my own office and all. Not that I'm bragging, I'm just… saying I'm prepared," He murmured, feeling worse by the moment.
"You want to stay, huh?" Remus asked lazily.
"I guess I am lonely," Virgil muttered and stared down at his legs. "You don't have to waste more time on me," He sighed and gripped his stomach harder. The naked wings weren't that greasy, but it really wasn't agreeing with him. Or was it the lack of alcohol? Or was it something else? Damnit, there were too many reasons to feel sick right now. Virgil didn't like any of this. He just wanted to drink until he forgot tonight. But that might not have even been from him, either. Virgil's stomach turned every time he blinked. This fucking sucked.