When Fionn drank, he drank hard, and he did it alone. He didn't go to the tavern, filled with stinking, drunken villagers, staggering around, singing, making fools of themselves. He did it in his work room in the back of the shop; it was quiet, solitary, and best of all, he could reach his liquor from behind the loose board in the wall without even having to leave his chair.
O'Chunks wouldn't approve of it, he knew. But O'Chunks wasn't here; he was off visiting family, just like every weekend, and he wouldn't be back for two more nights. Two more nights that Fionn could spend alone with his drink, his books, and his stack of numbers, precious numbers.
Of course, even they seemed determined to leave him tonight, as they swayed and wobbled under his weary eyes. Fionn sat back and rubbed his face. His pocket watch had stopped years ago, but he didn't need it to guess the time: it was late, past midnight, he guessed. He needed to be heading to bed. It was an early morning tomorrow, and he'd be running the shop by himself, a task difficult enough without a hangover. He should go, sleep, and rest.
His body didn't move.
Come on, he thought, putting a scolding tone to it, you've got to get up and get to bed. There would be customers tomorrow. Few- he knew how the villagers despised him, without O'Chunks to buffer- but there would still be a number of them, and unless he wanted to be included in the village gossip for a week, he should sleep.
Still, he didn't move, and his eyes returned to the half-empty bottle on his desk.
No harm in finishing it off, he gave in with a sigh. Better to help him sleep, after all.
Just as he raised the bottle to his lips, the sounds of footsteps made him freeze. They were heavy, pausing with a creak on the wooden boards of the shop floor.
"We're closed!" he shouted.
The footsteps started and came towards him. Moments later, O'Chunks appeared in the doorway, looking confused. When his eyes set upon the bottle, that look turned into disapproval.
"Oh." Fionn muttered. "You're… back early." The words came out more slurred than he meant them to, and- god forbid him- he almost sounded like one of the damn villagers.
"And yehr drinking," O'Chunks said flatly. "What's t'e occasion?"
"Does there need to be one?" Fionn snapped.
"I'd like for t'ere to be." O'Chunks stepped further into the room, and his presence seeming to take up the entirety of the small space. "It isn't heathy for yeh, it-"
"Spare me the lecture," Fionn spat. "I don't do this often, alright? And I can make my own decisions. I don't need you telling me what to do."
He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth; O'Chunks raised an eyebrow, and crossed his arms, leaning against the wall.
"No," Fionn said, shaking his head." Get out. We're not doing this tonight."
"I can tell when somet'ing wrong, Finny."
"Nothing's wrong, Chunky." His eyes moved to the bottle, wishing he could take another swallow. Anything to get rid of the bad taste rising in his mouth.
"Yeh can tell me, Fin." The other's voice was soft. "Yeh know I won't judge you. After all we've been t'rough together, t'ere isn't anyt'ing you can do t'at could make me think bad about you."
Despite the mixed feelings the words made rise in him, Fionn didn't speak. Damn did he want that bottle.
"Fionn…"
"Nothing's wrong," he said hollowly, and cleared his throat as he felt, more than heard the crack in his voice. "Everything's alright. Go on to bed, I'll be there in a bit."
"If everything was alright, then yeh wouldn't be drinkin'. It reeks back here, Finny."
"Don't call me that," Fionn muttered.
"If yeh won't-"
"O'Chunks!" Fionn snapped, raising his gaze to glare. "I don't need you right now, trying to make me- be open! Leave me alone! Aren't you supposed to be with that- that family of yours?"
O'Chunks's steady gaze never wavered. He had the damned patience of a saint, Fionn thought furiously.
"You want me to tell you," Fionn hissed. "But I can't, alright? There's nothing you can do for me. You're better off leaving right now- go home, go visit, and leave me alone."
"Fionn," O'Chunks murmured, a pleading, urging tone to his voice, and Fionn felt himself crumble.
"I'm just- I…" He sagged, lowering his gaze to a chip in the surface of his desk.
Speaking of such a topic- he felt like a child. He felt useless. The words burned in his throat, aching to come out, but it was as though actually speaking of them would be a worse pain, a true agony. "O'Chunks, I hate every moment in this damnable place."
When he glanced up, O'Chunks had his head cocked, waiting. It took Fionn a few moments to bring himself to continue, looking back to the worn desktop. His hands lay like limp, curled pieces of metal, but soft, rounded. They weren't working hands, like O'Chunks's were.
"I don't belong here," he mumbled. "No one here likes me. Nobody loves me like-"
"That's not true," O'Chunks spoke up, urgently.
Fionn glanced up, met his gaze for only a moment, and then looked away again. "You, perhaps. But the villager's- They tolerate me, but that's only because of you."
Perfect O'Chunks. Wonderful O'Chunks. Always knowing what to say, always kind, always loved.
O'Chunks sighed. "What do yeh expect?" His voice was gentle, despite the bite of his words. "Yeh act like yeh better t'an everyone Fionn. "
Fionn stared at his trembling hands and resisted the urge to cry out that he was- He was better than these ignorant people. He had been something once, back with his grandfather, back in the city. He had mattered- which was more than anyone here could say.
"T'is isn't the high society city," O'Chunks said. "Yeh can't talk down to everyone like you do. T'at's why they… dislike yeh. Yer the same as anyone else, Finny."
I wasn't, though, Fionn thought. I was once something better.
"Teach-" Fionn cut himself off, and hung his head, suddenly feeling sick. "I want to be like you," he mumbled. "Everyone loves you, even me. Why can't I be like that? What makes you so..."
So much better, he thought to himself.
O'Chunks spoke the truth, he always did, but there was more to it- O'Chunks had a way about him that Fionn just couldn't grasp. Like the aura of a god, like the charm of a felon. O'Chunks was the sort of man who would feel just as comfortable talking to the queen as talking to a beggar. If Fionn was once good, O'Chunks was still better. He would always be better.
Fionn broke out of his thought to find that, for once, O'Chunks was the one hesitating, deliberating at what to say. "…Fionn, yehr drunk," he finally said. "Yehr getting caught up too much in yeh own head. Come on, let's get to bed."
His firm footsteps came towards him, and O'Chunks pulled the bottle away and set it aside. "I actually came back early 'cause I thought it'd be nice to spend some time together," He admitted as he helped Fionn to his feet. "Been too long since we've spent a day off together, aye?" He slid an arm around Fionn's waist and pulled him close to steady him.
"I can manage-" Fionn reconsidered as the room spun. He grabbed onto O'Chunks's shirt as they half walked, half stumbled from the back room.
"Why-are you here?"
O'Chunks chuckled. "I jus' told yeh."
He let the other man put him down on the bed, and leaned against the bedframe as he waited for his head to stop swimming.
"No, I mean…" He let the words drift away as O'Chunks left the bedroom. From the other room, Fionn heard the sound of clinking bottles. Throwing them out, he guessed. He could always pick up some more at the tavern. "Your mother," he said when O'Chunks came back. "Sister. Surely they didn't want for you to leave?"
"Ma didn't mind. Timpani," O'Chunks shrugged as he unbuttoned his shirt. "She was a little 'arder to answer. I promised I'd bring 'er somet'in' nice next week."
Fionn watched every movement he made, from the time he undressed to when O'Chunks finally settled in beside him beneath the covers. True to form, he was asleep in minutes, his head turned, and mouth just the slightest bit open, showing a peek of teeth.
Though his head still ached from the drink, Fionn stayed awake for a while more, tracing O'Chunks's face in the dim light.
You're so wonderful, he whispered, so kind. Why can't I be like you?
The long fingers of sleep took him as he stared at that perfect, wonderful face in the moonlight.
