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One of the things Flint was coming to learn during his time at college was that most of the time people were predictable in their idiocy.
Obviously it made said idiocy even more serious than what it already was, but on the bright side it also meant that he knew what to expect and could get ready beforehand- it happened usually right after the finals, when apparently people went dumb altogether and thought they had all the time of the world to waste just because they had just finished their exams and dedicated themselves to a long period of illiteracy and once again parties thrived, something he had never been a fan of but that meant being left alone in peace and quiet for some time so he could read a book and relax without anyone bothering him, even though his peacefulness usually lasted around thirty minutes before being interrupted.
Most of the times by something stupid.
[Shit] Alcohol enhances the swimming speed.
Here we go.
He had to re-read the text a couple of times before managing to get any kind of sense out of it, discarding his book and trying to find a reason to justify that nonsense. He did receive stupid texts on a weekly if not daily basis, but never this level of idiocy- what the fuck was he trying to say?
[text: Shit] What the fuck does that even mean?
[Shit] I’m sure of it
[text: Shit] Why are you telling me this exactly?
[Shit] If you come to the party I’mgonna show you I’m right
He sighed loudly, feeling the impulse to just turn his phone off and ignore any further text. It wasn’t his responsibility making sure people lived to see the next sunset, especially when said people seemed devoted to do anything to avoid that- but still, something in his heart that had probably been instilled by Miranda in all the years they had been friends made him feel bad at the idea of letting someone kill themselves without at least trying to persuade him to give up his idea, so he texted the little shit a “if you do it, you’re going to die” that, however, found no answer.
Either he had been persuaded by someone more sensible than him to give up before he could commit what was borderline suicide or he was dead already, and both outcomes right now seemed acceptable enough for Flint that he didn’t even consider feeling worried. There was no reason - because of course he knew already what was going to happen next.
The knock on the door arrived fifteen minutes later. A record.
“Saved him by the skin of his teeth.” Billy said as greeting with one of his arms around Silver’ shoulders, who was currently hugging a waste bin in which he threw up before Billy could say anything more, making both him and Flint cringe disgusted. He was dripping water on the horrid carpet that covered the floor and was wearing only his boxers and a tank top, with his trousers folded around his arm.
“So he did try to swim.”
“Didn’t manage to. He was going to drown in the middle of the pool, we almost had to call the ambulance.”
“God knows it would have been a good idea if that meant something painful happening to him.” Flint said taking Silver by his free arm and shoving his roommate inside right before he threw up again, sounding particularly desperate: “You’d think one would stop acting like a moron after the first near death experience.”
“Well the crowd was chanting for him, so maybe it’s not only him.” Billy noticed, looking above his shoulder: “Can you handle this?”
“I think so. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome- maybe this will be the last time.” Billy said with what must have been a tentative of a comforting smile, although they both knew very well that it wasn’t true. No, it wasn’t going to be the last time, just as that time he tried to drink half a barrel of beer upside down had not been the last time, or that time he tried to start a riot against God knows which professor and almost risked to be beaten unconcious by the security guards who thought he had bad intentions had not been the last.
It was never going to be the last time. Flint had made peace with it the moment he had accepted John Silver as roommate and probably the closest thing to a friend he had in this godforsaken place.
This said a lot about his life, he feared.
“You’re an idiot.” He said immediately as he closed the door behind his back, without any remorse regardless of how Silver was feeling: “I want you to remember very well this moment and the way you’re feeling right now, because this is all your fault. Because you are an idiot.”
“I hate you.” Silver managed to answer between the coughs, his voice trembling and broken that turned into a strain sobs and tears of desperation: “Oh God I’m going to die…”
Flint rolled his eyes, forcing himself to get closer to him despite the way he stank and putting one hand on his shoulder, trying to show him some sympathy. He was too pathetic not to feel some kind of pity for him after all, with his back against the bed and his skin a weird colour between white and grey as he held to the bin for dear life. It didn't make him feel any less angry, but despite knowing that he was an idiot there was something about Silver that managed to make Flint not expressly wish for his death, no matter how much he deserved it. The curls, perhaps.
“You’re not going to die.” He reassured him, even though Silver kept on sobbing (and gagging here and there, just to make it all even more disgusting) furiously: “Get in the bathroom, stop using that bin or you’ll keep throwing up.”
“I will never feel well again.”
“It will pass.”
“It will never pass!” he shouted desperately, and Flint had to bite his lower lip not to laugh in his face as he forced him to stand up ignoring the dampness of his skin and clothes to throw him on the bathroom floor against the cold ceramic of the toilet bowl hoping for a mild concussion.
“There we go. Empty your stomach in there- and flush when you’re done.” he ordered with a last disgusted look as Silver did exactly that while he got rid of the bin - so revolting he couldn’t help but wonder if the best thing to do wouldn’t be to leave Silver there until he passed out on the cold floor and let him deal with his hangover the morning after, but somewhere in the back of his mind he could hear Miranda’s voice (again) pointing out that he was better than that.
But was he really, he pondered when Silver called from him sounding like he was again on the verge of tears.
“James?” he called: “Are you still there?”
He cursed through his gritted teeth.
“I am.”
“Can you come in here for a second?”
He held his breath and opened the door, hoping Silver didn’t expect him to gently hold his hair and rub his back because for as good as he could be he surely wasn’t going to do that.
“What do you want?” he asked trying to hold back the exasperation. Silver's eyes were watering like he had just cried all his tears out, his cheeks flushed and his hair a wet bird nest, with his mouth half-open but he didn’t make a sound, to the point that for a second Flint feared that he had fallen into some sort of stunned coma before Silver announced rather uselessly: “I reek.”
“Yes you do. Take your clothes off and get in the shower.”
“But-”
“You’re not getting out of the bathroom smelling like that if I have to lock you in here.” he warned him terrified of how much since he had met Silver he had come to be some sort of surrogate of a mother reprising a child, more than a…roommate who did not want to spend the night and possibly the day after gagging in his bed. He knew him well enough to know that next morning after swearing that he was never going to drink ever again he would have taken a shower, fixed his hair and eventually left Flint to deal with the mess he left behind like a tornado, and when he would have pointed that out he would have simply brushed it off and suggested him to call someone to clean everything up (because of course, in Silver’s mind the solution for all the problems of the world was to find someone else who could fix it), returning to his bratty self until next alcohol intoxication.
Flint was having none of it. He ignored Silver’s protests and helped him stand up, pushing him in the shower and turning the water on without even letting him take his clothes off. He was too drunk and weak to put up a real fight even if he had wanted to, and he knew that the warm water would have made him feel a little better and most of all cleaner. He even managed to get out of the bathroom on his own once he was done, with his arms crossed on his chest and his huge blue eyes looking at Flint like a needy puppy.
Flint stared at him from his bed, waiting for a thank you or a promise that he was going to clean up everything as soon as he felt better since it was all his fault.
“I am cold. And thirsty.”
Of course.
“Then drink and go to sleep.” he answered pragmatically, but Silver made a sound like it was all too much and took small, careful steps towards his bed. It took him forever to get under the covers and duvet, showing Flint his back.
“How do you feel?”
“Like I’ve been thrown in a washing machine.” Silver’s voice answered muffled by the duvet and sheets, making him snort. Sounded fitting, he supposed.
“I hope next time you’re going to do something moronic like trying to drown yourself in a fucking swimming pool you’ll remember it.”
“I will never do anything ever in my life.” Silver swore still too drunk to actually muster a sensed sentence - but it did sound like a good starting point, him doing absolutely nothing. “Good idea.”
“I will always listen to you from now on. You always know what is best.” he turned around, and again he sounded on the verge of tears: “You’re the best person I’ve ever known.”
“I can assure you I’m not the only one who would have told you that trying to swim completely drunk is not a good idea.” Flint told him, though Silver shook his head (and regretted it, from the expression he made immediately afterwards): “And you’re still drunk. Close your eyes and sleep.”
But of course even in this state and despite his promise to listen to him Silver had to ignore every sensible suggestion. He crawled out of his bed and towards Flint’s, making him stare at him perplexed and almost horrified when Silver took his hand in his’, squeezing it hard with the most serious expression on his face and his eyes wide and watering.
“There are so many bad things happening in the world, James.” he told him heartedly: “So many.”
“Y-yes. I know.”
“What you do, you make the world a better place. You are a kind soul.”
He had honestly no idea of what Silver was talking about, but he didn’t feel like arguing with him while he was so drunk, for as weird (and worrying) he might have sounded. He was used to Silver being loud and stupid when he got drunk, not…this, whatever it was.
“You must not let the world have his way with you.”
“Alright- sure. Of course I won’t.” he agreed in the end, hoping Silver would have just crawled back to his bed and let him alone. But he didn’t, of course- instead, Silver kind of laid on him, with an hand on his shoulder in a weird way that, Flint realised after a while, was a hug.
He remained completely still with his hands raised and eventually patting Silver on his shoulder hoping to make this whole awkward thing stop as soon as possible: “Now- bed…”
“Don’t ever leave me.” Silver murmured sounding horribly like he might have cried on him: “Don’t- stay with me forever, James.”
Oh god.
“Yes, yes- I’ll stay with you, now go to bed- no no no wait.” he said trying to move away as Silver climbed on the bed next to him: “What are you doing-?”
“Stay with me forever.” Silver repeated again, as if he didn’t realise he had just got into the wrong bed - or better, he definitely didn’t care considering it was hard not to notice he had his face pressed against Flint’s shoulder: “If you leave me I think I’ll die.”
On that Flint had no doubts, but it was not a good reason to get into his bed. It was not even about the proximity (though there was way too much proximity, especially after what he had just witnessed in the bathroom), it was just the awkwardness of the whole situation and how Silver seemed not to realise it in his drunken state.
It would have been better if he had tried to kiss him and take his pants off, so he could have simply kicked him and forced him to return in his bed - but even though he would have deserved it, Flint couldn’t find the courage to tell him to go away while he clinged to him with eyes wide and big like a fucking child with a pure heart (God, if only).
“Alright, I’ll stay with you forever, whatever you want- now go to sleep, okay?” he almost begged him hoping that he would have come back to his senses and left him alone - but instead Silver nodded satisfied, still keeping his head against his shoulder exploiting Flint’s awkwardness that made him remain perfectly still until Silver’s breath suddenly became regular and relaxed.
“John?” he tried to call him, but apparently this kind of drunkenness was not only pathetic but also short-lived: he was asleep as a rock against him, with his mouth half-open and loud snorts coming out from his mouth.
“Are you fucking serious?” he asked out loud shaking him by the shoulder, but all he got from him was a moan and his grip getting tighter around his shoulder, nuzzling- actually nuzzling – at the base of his neck.
“Forever.” He said once again in his sleep.
It sounded more like a threat than anything.