Good days weren't easy to come by in that part of Halifax.
Seth's little bedroom room stunk of paint thinner, pot smoke, and some musk cologne Seth claimed he'd had mailed over from England – even though Fritz knew you could get better, cheaper stuff at the Shopper's two blocks over, not that he'd dare complain. There wasn't a lot of room to do that around Seth.
Fritz squirmed through the sea of blankets, trying to catch sight of the bedside clock. 11:34 A.M.. He groaned in disgust and slithered back under. His head throbbed in steady, pounding surges with each heartbeat; he couldn't begin to figure out what substance had induced it. His memories of last night were foggy, but he knew it had been loud and wild. Seth had dragged him to some nightclub, and he'd been too busy talking to stodgy executives to come dance with Fritz. Sure, it was probably about something important, but it couldn't kill Seth to do actual...like...boyfriend things.
Speak of the devil, maybe literally: Fritz could hear a familiar shuffling coming into the room. He lay still, slowing his breath, trying to give the impression he was still asleep. Footsteps edged up to the bed and stopped.
"Kiddo..." Seth sounded annoyed, but softer than usual.
Suddenly, the blankets were whipped back, and Fritz couldn't help but flinch. He lay rigid, drawing shallow breaths.
"Kid, I know you're awake," Seth sighed, prompting Fritz to crack one eye open. Seth sat on the edge of the bed, dismayed, in a way that reminded Fritz of the disappointed teachers in drug PSAs. Fritz rolled over without a word, idly rubbing under his nose with the back of his hand. The skin there and his upper lip were raw.
"I...yeah..." Fritz rolled over, groaning. His clammy, sweaty skin met the room's stale warm air, and it just made him feel disgusting. His hair had fallen limp, hanging in long charcoal tangles along his shoulders. Before he knew it, one of Seth's hands had reached gently for his hair, his thick fingers entangling in the locks like he did with a telephone cord. Fritz couldn't help but let his eyes flutter.
"You know you're going to have to get up soon, right?" Seth said, not as a question, but a distantly tense reminder. "No matter how gorgeous you try to be."
I'm not trying anything, you old bastard, Fritz thought. But he made himself say, "I know, but I'd rather just cuddle like this..."
"Mm." Seth pulled himself closer on the mattress, not letting himself get too comfortable.
Fritz never knew if he should relish his proximity to Seth. There were so many people, men and women alike, who would die to be where he was. Sure, it was fun for the most part; Fritz had connections, a new name, and a new world to play around in. Seth had taken him in and given him everything, and he didn't dare let Fritz forget it. It wasn't hard to play the character Seth had put upon him: he was to be a gilded boy who had just needed the right patch-ups and grooming.
Something about Seth, something deep and distant, made Fritz sick to his stomach. He knew it had to be the reason he swam in substances, trying to shove down the feelings of repulsion that he knew he could never shake off. There was so much control, and so much Fritz knew was wrong, wrong, wrong. But fight or flight impulses were easy to dull when you had enough cocaine to kill an elephant.
Seth peeled himself off the bed, heading to the bedside table. He asked, "Do you need something to wake you up?"
This was never an invitation to coffee.
"I guess..." Fritz whined. He quickly felt the area under his nose; it was chapped, but as long as he didn't bleed again, he'd be fine.
Fritz had no idea where Seth got his drugs. Everything was the purest; the kind of stuff you could fall into a hedonistic cloud for hours. Seth's supply was afar cry from the shitty high school spliffs and stolen Benzedrines, and it had all fallen in Fritz's lap like candy. There was getting your toes wet, and then there was being thrown into the fucking ocean.
Seth returned to the bedside with a loaded cocaine spoon. He held it out to Fritz like he was offering a spoonful of Buckley's. His deep, rough voice chuckled, "Breakfast is ready."
Fritz leaned forward, letting the spoon interlock with his nostril, and he snorted in, hard. Fuck, it was something extra potent from God-only-knows-where. He felt whirling dizziness as his head tried to get accustomed to the coke.
He could feel Seth's eyes on him the whole time. Fritz just knew something about dosing him probably got the old man off. Vitriol melted away, making room for the flood of tickly, twitchy euphoria.
"I...!" Fritz gasped, feeling a stupid grin work its way across his face. "Holy shit, boss! Who'd you kill to get this stuff?!"
Seth chortled, and turned away to put the spoon in a drawer. Without looking back at Fritz, he only said, "It's a new supply. You ready to model now, my little demon?"
"Well, maybe I'll grace your presence!" Fritz clamoured out of the bed, and began trying to sort out his hair. Seth pulled away one of the boy's hands, stern.
"No, no, leave it like that. I want you au naturel." He wore a familiar slimy grin. "Aside from the kinbaku ropes."
"Oooh, so it's that kinda modelling...?" Fritz half-sang.
He'd been dreading the possibility of sitting for photos, parked for hours under bright white spotlights. It wasn't the kind he liked. Feeling a bit more at ease, Fritz caught up with Seth, snaking his slim, bony arms around the older man's midsection. He sighed and pulled him in for a hug.
Seth was soft in the right places, accented by silk, but he still stunk of cigarettes and terrible cologne. He turned in Fritz's grasp, an arm held up, and something inside Fritz told him to brace himself, to flinch. His eyes fastened shut; they only sprung open again when a comforting, big hand tousled his hair.
"I'll treat you after this session," Seth purred. "Okay?"
Fritz slunk off of Seth, beaming, "All right...!"
He followed Seth into the living room, where the easel and platform swathed in silk sheets were already set up; he rued how obedient he was being. He'd only been able to sleep for a few hours, and now the old man wanted him trussed up like a ham? And kneeling on a box for two hours? Fritz would've loved to do nothing less than kick over the platform and take a long, decent nap – maybe 300 miles away.
But there wasn't a lot he could risk anymore. Fritz knew the old man had done this on purpose...if he wanted that album, the gigs, the exposure, and any substance he needed, he'd have to keep bearing with every minute absurd art project. Not to mention what could happen from Seth himself.
Fritz climbed wordlessly onto the platform, gripping the silk-draped edges to make sure he wouldn't painfully slip off. He found a steady spot on top, and leaned forward, expectant, before an over-enthusiastic Seth. The older man had cherry red ropes in hand.
Fritz dramatically batted his eyes. "Ready when you are, boss."
The promised "treat" hovered in the back of his mind. He'd do everything he needed to, just this once.