A/n I have wanted to write some kind of Beard x Ted fic but writing it has been difficult. Contains some difficult topics that draws on Brendan Hunt's head canon for Beard's backstory. I hope the finished product is okay!

When I was a teenager, I had a code word for something that I was ashamed to talk about, so I have drawn from that experience. Originally, the code word was "candyfloss" and then after writing 6k words I had the horrible realisation that they would say "cotton candy" so had to switch it to a code phrase. Highly irritating but we move.

TW – self-loathing, mentions of canon compliant suicide, mental health issues, weight loss, drug abuse, drug addiction, suicidal thoughts, slight domestic violence undertones.

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Cotton Candy

Wednesday 19th March 1997 – Washburn University, Topeka, Kansas

"I told you that was way too much cotton candy!"

"Never underestimate my sweet tooth darling." Ted and Michelle have been dating for over six months now and tonight they had one of their many date nights but this time at the carnival. It is in town for a few weeks, and it bundles a lot of his favourite things into one fun package: rides, gimmicks, and sugar. He didn't hesitate in buying the biggest bag of cotton candy that she has ever seen and although he has done well at scoffing half of it (with her assistance), he still has quite the portion left. "I am sure Beard will want some." He murmurs as he jimmies his key into the lock on the front door of the college digs the pair share.

They gelled instantly Ted and Beard despite being so different. Yes, they have similarities like their love of sport and obscure pop culture references but other than that they are quite different – although work very well together. They are kind of like peanut butter and jelly, one of them is a bit nutty and the other sickly sweet but when stuck together they bring out the best of each other. "Is Beard alright? I've not seen him in a while." Michelle muses and straightaway her boyfriend goes to reassure her that everything is fine, but she notes his hesitation as his brow fleetingly creases. Now that she mentions it, he has been keeping to himself lately.

"I'm sure he is right as rain." He brushes off any worry with ease but pauses outside his friend's room door. "Hey, let's see if he wants some of this." Without another thought, he is knocking on the chipped wood, in between two peeling stickers one for the Washburn Ichabods and the other for Kansas City Chiefs, both stuck there by Beard much to the annoyance to Ted who had huffily proclaimed that they were going to lose their deposit. That was a couple of months ago, the frustration has long gone, they've both done much stupider stuff since then. His knock is met with no reply and momentarily he considers that maybe his best friend and housemate has gone out, it is possible. However, when Ted looks to his right and discerns the clear worry on his girlfriend's face, he understands that she won't be happy if he made any assumptions, so he starts to push open the door. "Beard? I've got some-" The words get caught in his throat on spotting his friend. It may be dim in his room thanks to the lights being turned off but a streetlight outside his window is creating a stream of orange light, cutting across him sprawled out on the floor, definitely unconscious, with vomit not far from his head. "Get help." He instructs, his voice low and quiet as he tries to remain calm even though the voices are screaming in his head. Michelle doesn't need to be told twice and she is running out of the room.

Ted takes a second to remember how to breathe, trying to push the memories of finding his father, dead, to the back of his mind. He doesn't know what is happening here, his friend probably just had too much to drink. He finds his poise before rushing to his side, kneeling just to the side of the sick. "Buddy." He mutters and gives his arm a slight shake earning a groan from the barely conscious man, but the groan is enough to give him great relief. He is alive. The relief is brief though because he now has to work out what is next. "What have you taken?" His question is met with another groan and Ted is pressing two fingers to his best friend's neck, in search of his pulse, but thanks to his rapid heartrate, it isn't difficult to find. "Dammit Beard."

It isn't uncommon for his friend to use drugs and it generally doesn't bother him, he has even taken part on occasions but that was always a light high either at parties or sometimes when it is the two of them here, alone, having a movie night or something. But that was just pot. The state he has got himself in isn't from a bit of weed, it is from something more and the anxiety of not knowing what that substance is has Ted on edge. Then there is also Michelle's words floating around his head, saying how she hasn't seen him in a while… has he been neglecting his best friend? "Shit." He curses and swallows the lump in his throat. With his hand snaking to the back of Bear's head to lift it up slightly off the floor, the movement has the drowsy man attempting to open his eyes and when he manages it, albeit briefly, it isn't a pretty sight. The whites of them are bloodshot and his pupils are blown so wide that the brows of his irises are completely undetectable. "I am here. You are going to be okay. Help is coming." He utters as he carefully lays him back down but shifts him somewhat so that there is gap between him and the vomit. Inhaling it would certainly not do him any good.

"I found a warden." Michelle's voice alerts him that she has returned, and he slowly gets back to his feet with a sniff, dragging the back of his hand underneath his nose, grazing over his faint moustache. "They're calling for an ambulance and then they're coming here." Ted's attention then darts around the dark room, searching for any signs of drug use that could potentially get them kicked out of the apartment by the warden when they turn up. That would be the last thing they need. "Is he okay?"

"He's high. We need to get rid of the drugs." He urgently explains and she switches on the light – Beard moans from the floor. "I don't see any." He stresses and pinches the bridge of his nose, feeling the symptoms of a headache coming on. His girlfriend frowns at the sorry sight in front of her before taking the few paces up to her partner and gently places a hand on his shoulder, giving it a gentle quick squeeze for good measure. Even after dating this guy for over half a year, she hasn't really seen him be properly vulnerable. She knows he is. He sometimes shows traces of upset or anger or anxiety like he is doing now, but he tries to keep it hidden, locked away and she is worried that one day he is going to explode with emotion.

Sometimes she wonders about their friendship, wonders if Beard has seen Ted vulnerable and a part of her hopes he has because everyone needs a crutch in difficult times, and she is endeavouring to become his. His shoulders relax a bit under her touch, and she chooses to take this as a win before she releases her hold so she can help in finding whatever narcotics the unconscious man has taken. It doesn't take her long. "Found them." With Ted ransacking the desk and bedside drawers, she elected on rooting through Beard's bedding when she spies an open box tucked in between the mattress and the wall. She doesn't know what it is, but she knows it isn't pot, and now she understands her boyfriend's urgency. The warden may have turned a blind eye to a bit of marijuana, anything else definitely not. Ted casts a look over the box before she shuts it, and he is shaking his head. "I will chuck them. You stay with him." He doesn't need to be told to stay with him because there is no way on earth that he is leaving him now.

He takes a seat on the bed but leans over so that he can watch his friend closely – he even takes solace in running a hand up and down his arm, trying to home in on his chest raggedly rising and falling.

This is how the warden and paramedics find them.

The next hour is a blur. There is a lot of raised voices from various medics, usually shouts of instructions on how to stabilise him, whilst Ted simply watches on. He knows that this event is another one that will forever be engrained on his mind, even if he wants, needs, to forget about it. It would be a fair assumption that in five years time he will still be replaying the images over and over whenever he closes his eyes because he still sees the images of his father from that dreaded day in 1991. Perhaps it isn't fair on his father or on Beard for comparing the two situations, his father is dead, took his own life, Beard isn't. They're not the same, not really, but the trauma of both occurrences has become interlinked in his brain and untangling those wires or strings or whatever it is tying them together is going to be a tough task.

For now though, he is going to have to do exactly what he did with his mom after the thirteenth of September 1991 and that is put on a brave face, fight through the apprehension, and find a way to move on. "You're awake." He unnecessarily states on entering the hospital room, the bright lights making the aching in his head worse.

Beard uses all the strength he can muster to push himself up into a sitting position, propping himself against the sturdy pillows that remind him of the corn sacks on his cousin's farm. Not meeting his friend's gaze, he pats a small space on the edge of the bed, inviting him to take a seat there seeing that there appear to be no chairs in the room. Ted is glad of the invitation and takes it without even wavering, needing to be close to him at this time. Neither of them says a word for a few minutes, letting the seconds tick away in a blissful yet heavy silence that gives them both the opportunity to find some calm. From the moment Ted found him, everything has been crazy, not just in the real world but also in his head. Now he is getting some respite, he is relishing the company and all the indications that everything will be okay, but still his mind seems so noisy, his friend can practically hear the cogs turning in his head. He hates that he has caused this. Self-loathing is a normal part of his life but tonight it is amplified, almost screaming at him.

Why have you done this? How could you hurt Ted so badly? Why do you have to ruin everything?

His focus flickers between the canula sticking out of the back of his hand and the hunched demeanour of his closest friend who he knows has demons which he is doing his damnedest to suppress. He doesn't want to add to them. "I'm sorry." He croaks and immediately Ted's hazelnut eyes are on him, but they aren't sparkling which they tend to do, his anguish is nothing but clear. "I don't really understand what happened I…" He sighs, his head foggy and limbs lightly quaking, something which he cannot control. "Why did you come into my room anyway?"

"To offer you cotton candy." The reply is accompanied by a chuckle but not a happy one. One that says: this all seems so trivial and stupid now.

"I'm glad you did." This admittance has Ted's features softening, thankful that this is the case. This wasn't a suicide attempt gone wrong, it was a mistake. "I didn't mean for things to get like that."

"I know, but Beard, if you don't reign it in then this shit will kill you and I don't want that. You're my best bud. I don't know what I would do if…" He trails off, the thought having his features twist in pain.

Beard outstretches his trembling arm and touches Ted on the bicep with a "hey", forcing his friend to look back at him, but he doesn't say anything else, the expression of pure shame is enough. This could have been so much worse, and they both have to try to remember that. Tomorrow, he will be discharged, and they will be able to go back to their apartment, eat pizza and watch Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, like nothing even happened. The normality is necessary and although things are going really well with Michelle, Ted acknowledges that perhaps he needs to alter how he divvies up his free time. Just until things settle. "Look, I know we are both shit at talking about real stuff, but we need some kind of system. Some way of me knowing that you could be getting into trouble and need help." He announces, his gaze not leaving his friend's for a second, he doesn't even blink and in this moment, Beard ruminates if he has ever seen him so serious before. It is almost chilling.

A silence falls between them as this thought gathers momentum. Ted is right, they are terrible at being completely open with one and other, probably has something to do with deep-rooted toxic masculinity. If he ever gets into a similar situation again, he isn't sure how he is meant to bring it up. It is not like he could stroll into their kitchen and be all like: Hey bud, I feel like a complete failure and the voices in my head are making me think that there is no point even trying to live. They need something different. "How about some kind of code?" His suggestion is met by a raised brow. "Less embarrassing."

Ted mulls this over, already deliberating what the code could be. "Alright." He agrees. "But what?"

It needs to be something which they will remember for potentially along time, forever even. Perhaps it should be a little out there but nothing so crazy that it is difficult to pronounce like onomatopoeia or semantic satiation or supercalifragilisticexpialidocious – who knows what kind of state he will be in when using it becomes essential. It does need to be something which is rarely used in conversation though, don't want any misunderstandings…

They decide on cotton candy.

Thursday 12th May 2005 – Meth Den, Topeka, Kansas

They've not seen or spoken to each other for some time. It makes Ted sad of course but they both have lives to be getting on with. He has been planning a future with Michelle, his wife, whilst working his butt off coaching high school football and taking the odd shift at a sports bar in town just so he can save enough for a house. It is great though, he never moans, even when he is getting grief off some of the kids at school or when he is having drinks chucked at him by peeved punters. That's Ted though, always optimistic and trying to look on the bright side. Sometimes he wonders what happened to his friend, the last time he saw him was at baseball game and he was telling him all about how he was about to go to Europe with prog-rock band, Phish, to roadie for them. He wasn't super excited about the job itself, even with Ted's enthusiasm on how cool it is, but he was looking forward to exploring Europe.

It didn't quite work out that way though.

Beard knew he would never be cut out for the normal nine to five. He would go stir crazy stuck behind a desk but then doesn't have the warm personality needed in a lot of service jobs like waiting tables or being stood behind a bar, but he needed to do something. One night he met some guy in a club who said that he was a roadie for this band who are about to embark on a long European tour and that they always need an extra pair of hands. He accepted on the spot, desperately needing the funds to live. However, he wasn't expecting the job to be so hard, not only on the body but also on the mind. Sleep schedule? It doesn't exist. Exploring the sights? Never the time. Healthy lifestyle? Anything but. Any free time he seemed to have was spent drinking and snuffing up meth like there is no tomorrow.

The drug habit quickly became different to the one he had at college. This was serious and it has become a staple of his life, more than food sometimes. One night in Munich, things got out of hand, and he screwed up. His drug-addled state meant he left a hard case containing one of McConnell's favourite keyboards at the venue and he didn't realise until the following day in Berlin. The keyboard was never found, and Beard was sent home with his pink slip. As soon as he returned to the States, it hit him that he didn't really know what home was anymore. He knew he couldn't go to his parents' place in Illinois because they would be so disappointed in him for getting in such a state and then the thought of burdening a domesticated Ted made him nauseous.

Ted remembers one night at college when Beard, whilst lighting up a spliff, explained to him the difference between a drug user and a drug abuser. Quelling his worries for his health and most likely his safety, and it did work. Heck he even dabbled in pot himself on occasions, but meth is different and being hooked on it is not a good place to be. He is ashamed. Ashamed and low, so low that two nights ago he tried to recall where the nearest bridge is. Sometimes the drugs and his poor mental health go hand in hand, not because the drugs make him suicidal but because being suicidal directs him to drugs... or maybe it does work both ways. Currently, it is difficult to focus on his thoughts, today has been incredibly tough.

Someone died. It isn't the first time since living here that one of the other "residents" has conked it and on watching two of the strongest guys drag the skinny, lifeless body out, to dump on the sidewalk so this place isn't bothered by cops, Beard realised that it probably won't be the last corpse he sees if he stays. "Jesus…" He mutters under his breath and lifts off his cap, runs a hand down the back of his head before replacing the accessory. He knows what he needs, other than another hit, and that's Ted.

"How about some kind of code? Less embarrassing."

"Alright. But what?"

"Hey! How about cotton candy?"

He scrambles to his feet, not allowing himself to back out now as his mucky hands root around the pockets of his torn and baggy jeans. They definitely weren't this baggy when he…acquired them. He dreads to think how much weight he has lost – but he can't think about that right now. Grasping onto any one thought pattern is a real struggle currently so any traces of focus he has left; he has to round up to concentrate on this task. Beard manages the smallest of smiles when his fingers touch metal and he is traipsing out of the meth den with all the energy he can gather, in search of the payphone which he believes is just around the corner.

The fresh air slaps him around the face. It is like it has the power to sober him up but that is more because he hasn't taken anything since this morning and the signs of withdrawal are beginning to kick in with force. It is late now; the sun has recently set, and flickering streetlights create a path for his short journey to the grimy payphone hooked up to the wall. Below it is an empty beer bottle or two, a variety of wrappers and a random single shoe. He finds himself leaning up against the brick wall tiredly whilst he finds his coin once again, the minor actions feeling harder and harder by the second. If he was doubting whether he needed help or not before, this has just proven he does and fleetingly a shred of panic sets in, but he makes himself stop and take a breath, holding the tarnished twenty-five cent coin in the centre of his palm.

Beard studies it in his hand, contemplating if this is the best thing to do. This single coin is all he has other than the clothes on his body and the battered Kansas City Chiefs cap on his head. Making the call, taking the step, is going to be one of the hardest things he will ever have to do but he promised him. He promised Ted to not let drugs kill him and at this rate they will. Either the substances itself or something related like being shanked to death by a fellow addict in a robbery gone wrong.

No, this is for the best, he decides, and slides the coin into the slot, the tiniest sound it makes as it clinks into the machine cuts through him horrifically and he is taking another deep breath before picking up the phone and jabbing in the numbers. He hopes that his old friend is still living in that pokey apartment not far from the university. If he isn't and he has moved on, then Beard doesn't feel like he owes it to him to survive. "Hello?" A woman's voice answers the phone and Beard's heart sinks. It is really over. "Ted? Is this you playing games again?" Michelle. It must be Michelle. He releases a relieved gasp whilst peering up at the dark, night sky. The stars appear to be dancing in his vision.

"No, I'm looking for Ted though actually." He is shocked at how his voice manages to project perfectly and it kind of sounds like he is just a normal, sober guy. Certainly not someone who is beginning to experience withdrawal symptoms. "Can you say cotton candy to him and then give him this address?" He reels off the address with a surprising effortlessness.

"Oh, erm, sure? Who is this?" Beard hangs up.

He is barely back in the house before he sinks to his knees.

xxx

Ted hadn't even had chance to kick off his sneakers before Michelle's garbled message had him frantically heading back out of the front door, apologising as he went. He is knackered. Today he taught four P.E. classes, coached at lunch and after-school in preparation for a big football game in a few days time and then went to the sports bar downtown for a shift. It doesn't take much to short his fuse, but he was looking forward to putting his feet up and watching television with his wife. However, he didn't falter in making his decision to go to the alien address he was given in hope to find his long-lost friend. He had no idea that he was even in the area.

Sometimes he still has nightmares of finding Beard that night in such a state. It is his second most frequent nightmare, the first being the death of his father which takes a landslide victory and the third being this silly, reoccurring dream he has involving him forgetting about a big game and leaving his team in the lurch. It always ends with them all shouting obscenities at him. He will take that bad dream over the first two a million times over though.

A wave of sickness floods him when he comes across the house. It is in an area of Topeka where it would be unwise for him to leave his car, but he doesn't have a choice. He has to hope that it doesn't take long to uncover his friend and get him out of what is clearly a drug house of some sorts. Even during the worst days at college, he was nowhere near at this point, of being so consumed by narcotics that it has pulled him completely from reality, so this is certainly a shock, one that he has to try and push past presently. He needs to have full awareness, to not only find him but to also be on guard for anyone looking for a fight. He takes a sharp intake of breath before pushing open the door, it creaks on its hinges.

It is difficult to see anything. The place has no electricity so there are no lights and most of the windows are roughly boarded up with wooden planks or newspaper. There are a few gaps which let the artificial light from the street spill in and there are candles dotted around, usually next to a sleeping (or at least he hopes they are sleeping) body. He has to resist the urge to call out his friend's name, he doesn't want to cause a disturbance, especially here, so instead he is squinting, striving to catch a glimpse of the person he seeks. Beard shifts slightly on hearing the footsteps, silently praying that it his old friend and not someone here to cause them trouble. He examines the moving shape, creeping around, seemingly searching for something or someone. It could be Ted. "C-cotton candy." He weakly murmurs and the man's head snaps in his direction.

Ted scampers up to where the sound came from, his heart hammering so hard that he can hear it in his head, it is making his ears throb. "Beard?" He feebly questions and cautiously holds his hand out to the body which is lying in a foetal position against a wall which is marked with God knows what. Beard manages to limply hold his hand, showing him that it is in fact him and the contact has their tense shoulders slumping in relief. "What happened?"

"Withdrawal."

"To what buddy?"

"Meth." That explains his clear lethargy. "S-sorry."

"Hey now… let's just get you out of here."

Getting him out of the meth den is as much as a challenge as trying to defeat Shao Kahn on Mortal Combat 3. Even with Ted's wariness, it only took him a few minutes to get from his car to finding Beard, but it takes him probably almost four times that to get back to the vehicle – which is thankfully still where he parked it and with its tyres. His silver, 1999 Ford F-150 pick-up is one of his prize possessions but it has definitely seen better days. It is rusting around the wheel arches, splutters at speeds over fifty miles-per-hour and the passenger seat is stuck in its current position so can't be adjusted. It is a comfort to him though. Travelling in it reminds him of the few road trips he used to take in his father's red F-150 Raptor truck that he used to help him repair on the roadside when it croaked. He cannot envision ever not having one of these cars.

It is testing helping Beard inside. To say he is lacklustre would be an understatement and it is as if he has lost most of his muscle tone. Ted is glad that he called when he did because if he left it any longer, he has an inkling that it would have been too late. The thought makes him queasy as he straps him in and then he shuts the door with a slam. He isn't sure what exactly the plan is other than to get him as far away from this place as possible and somehow, during that, broaching the conversation with Michelle about putting him up for the time being. She should understand. Yes, this disrupts their plans to earn as much as possible so that they can move to a house and then, maybe, start a family. He won't be able to continue his shifts at the bar, in the evenings he is going to have to be around for his friend because he suspects that is when he will be the most vulnerable to relapsing. It wouldn't be fair on his wife to ask her to watch him, plus Beard would hate that. So much. It could drive him away.

They are silent as the car hurtles away from the dingy property. In between of drifting in and out of consciousness, Beard tries to inspect his friend's appearance. His feeble attempt of a moustache is much fuller now, a strong look that he surprisingly manages to pull off. He is wearing a black dress-shirt, the sleeves turned up to the middle of his forearms, with a maroon V-neck sweater over the top. It is smart outfit, much smarter than the hoodies and loose shorts he used to live-in during their college days.

But that was some time ago. "Have you eaten?"

"No."

"Alright, we will get you some food." He decides but his tone is low, almost dangerously so, as if he is trying to stay in control.

"Thanks." This makes the silence that returns greatly uncomfortable and despite Beard having little energy and requiring some rest, he feels the need to fill the void. "You know-"

"You should have called before this point man!" Ted interjects. The anger that was bubbling under the surface now boiling over, spilling out inside the vehicle. "What did I tell you in the hospital?!" He continues his tirade of shouts, the harshness making his friend's head pound. "That this shit will kill you and I don't know what I would do if that happened! I can't lose you too!" The last five words makes his voice crack, and he halts in his outburst to take a breath, his friend remaining quiet. Quiet and stunned and guilty. "Sorry, I'm just… I know we haven't been in close contact, but I thought you were in Europe. You should have told me when you came back, you could have stayed with me and Michelle."

"I am sorry Ted. I know I need help."

"Yeah, and you're getting it. No arguments." And he believes him. "McDonald's or Taco Bell?"

Tuesday 9th August 2022 – Richmond, London, England

They've fought again, him and Jane, and once again he has no idea why.

It has just got worse and worse, and Beard didn't think that were possible. He thought (or maybe hoped) that staying in London over the Summer break whilst Ted returned to Kansas would not only show his commitment to her but help mend their fragmented relationship. He couldn't have been more wrong.

And now he is sat on his couch in a Richmond training shirt and underpants, nursing a fresh burn on his thigh. Whenever he presses it with the cold, wet towel he winces in pain, wondering how life got to this? Things are meant to be great. They're not in Kansas anymore, his really low days are long behind them, and they're living the dream coaching a Premier League football team! Tonight, he had cooked dinner for them both and she brewed them some tea for after. Whenever he drinks a cup, he muses how Ted would be shaking his head if he saw but that just makes him chuckle. He isn't chuckling now.

Jane got irate about… something or other. In a fit of rage, she lashed out, her hand accidentally knocking over his mug on the tabletop and the boiling contents spilled out, splashing on his sweatpants-clad thigh. He yelped out in pain, yet she still just left him. Beard may be dumb, but he isn't stupid, he can see that their poor relationship will never be anything other than that. If he was wise, he would get out now, whilst he still can but the thought of being alone makes him empty inside. It feels like his old ways are peeking in through the window and briefly he ponders whether any of her mushrooms are left in his house… but then Ted's disappointed face is drowning his mind. No, not this, not again, not anymore. No.

It has been sometime, years and years, since he has had to use their special code, but it still is something he thinks he will never forget. As he holds his mobile in his hand, he tries to remember all the instances when he has had to use it, but truth be told his memory is poor of that tricky period in his life. This may be the case, but he is one-hundred-percent certain that he doesn't want to go back there. So, he calls Ted, ready to say the code for what he hopes is the final time. "Hey Beardo. What's cooking?" An excitable Ted answers the phone, the joy in his tone has Beard closing up, feeling ashamed that he is about to ruin his good mood. The season starts at the weekend, so he is probably all hyped up about that… but perhaps that makes now the perfect time for this. To rid himself of the demon which is lurking over his shoulder so that he can start the new season fresh, throw himself into his coaching, something that he is genuinely passionate about. The drawn-out silence though makes Ted nauseous. "Are you alright?" He softly asks and his fingers tap his leg anxiously.

"I, er..." Beard struggles but the two syllables have his friend releasing a breath he didn't realise he was holding. "Cotton candy." The code has Ted immediately jumping up off his couch and to attention.

"R-right okay." He momentarily panics, looking around his flat for his jacket which is slung on the back of a chair in the kitchen. "I will be right over. Sit tight."

They don't live far from each other, only a ten or so minute walk but to both of them it seems much longer at times like this. What Ted wants to do is run there, jog at least, but if he is seen doing so that then people may chatter and that is something they can't risk in this scenario. He must trust that his friend will do what he says and sit tight until he arrives. He does. "Have you taken anything?" His question comes as soon as the front door is opened, no pleasantries or anything just straight in.

"No." He states and closes the front door. Despite being the one to instigate this whole situation, he cannot bring himself to catch Ted's stare. "A few painkillers because of this-" Beard indicates to the now blistering burn on his thigh, the angry, inflamed mark causing a red mist to fall in front of his friend's eyes. He is hurt. Physically hurt. "But nothing else."

"Good, good." He attempts to focus on the positives here – he isn't high and compared to previous times when the code has been used, this is definitely not the same. "Is this because of Jane? Because if it is then she-"

"I'm not going to see her anymore… and I mean it this time." Their eyelines finally meet and Ted can tell that he is being truthful, he wants to do better and to do that, he has to cut the toxicity from his life. Completely.

"Okay, good." They are planted in the hallway, both experiencing an edginess which makes it hard to formulate a plan of what to do next. They can't just stand motionless all night, but they also aren't going to transform into the physical embodiment of candour. All those other times, Beard has been in such a bad state that Ted has known what he needs because it usually involved sobering him up or taking him to the hospital or just keeping a watchful eye on him to ensure he doesn't expire. This contrasts those occasions because he still has control of some kind. "What do you need?"

"Honestly? Sex and drugs and rock n roll." They share a chuckle at his effort of humour, another sign that he is doing okay.

"Didn't realise Ian Dury was in the house." He tries to make light of the situation in typical Ted Lasso fashion. "To paraphrase MF DOOM: I prefer love, hugs and hip-hop. Come here." Without another thought he engulfs Beard in a large bear hug, wrapping his arms around him, holding him tight as if there was chance of something bad happening if he didn't. He can't lose him. Ever. He wouldn't cope. "I am proud of you. I need you to know that. Okay?" He mumbles next to the other man's ear, the words making tears begin to form as he is overcome with sentiment on hearing those words. Beard doesn't think he has ever been told by someone that they're proud of him before.

"Okay." He utters after clearing his throat, not being able to hide his emotion. His friend sees right through it and is smiling when they part. "So that was love and hugs, what about hip-hop?"

"Hm." He hums, trying to come up with something that could hopefully bring some happiness to his fellow coach, but it takes him longer than usual because of a notion festering that perhaps a medic should check over the burn. Beard will never go for it though, so instead he will have to fix it himself somehow. "How about we watch The Fresh Prince or Men in Black?"

It takes his friend a second to follow this particular train of thought as he tries to join up the dots of how he has come to this conclusion. He suddenly grasps it with a raised finger. "Because Will Smith is also a hip-hop artist."

"You got it Coach." He then points towards the living room, fully inviting himself in now and Beard nods before following him in.

It has been a long time for either of them since cotton candy was just a sugary treat tended to be sold at carnivals. Now it is a term that fills both men with dread but that's okay because it is much better than the alternative. If it weren't for this system, Beard has no doubt in his mind that he would be dead now.

He is glad that he isn't.