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The courier couldn’t blend in even if he tried, which, he didn’t. To be fair, it wasn’t really his fault, but it also kind of was. He’d never cared about how people saw him; a scruffy brunette wearing a duster with ripped sleeves. He’s always had a tendency to show a lot of skin. That’s not why people stare, obviously, but the ‘murdering, psycho-addict who may or may not steal your wallet out of your back pocket while lying through his teeth’ vibes are a bit too strong to ignore.
He visits freeside pretty often, the King’s club being a frequent destination because no sane man nor woman could deny the silver-tongued King. Ander, along with most of the other common scum would often prefer his company over the scavvs’ at the Atomic wrangler. At least The King doesn’t charge double-payments and his beer isn’t watered down rad-water. And when a young, erratic courier marches in with pockets overflowing and nothing but time to spare, no one in their right mind would actually say no. The King certainly doesn’t.
Ander can usually talk himself in or out of whatever situation he pleases. Most would assume that’s why he hasn’t been killed or imprisoned yet. Some would also apply this to the phrase that “weeds always grow back, no matter how much you pull them”. Let’s say Ander is the weed and his oddly-charismatic yet undeniably annoying attitude is the root that keeps him stuck in the ground, tripping everyone that lacks the common sense to step around him.
Ander was now ‘back on his bullshit’, as he would often put it when Arcade would ask him why on earth he’d be falling around the Lucky 38 at 2:00 in the morning, wearing nothing but a drunk smile and a sack of caps. He was making his rounds at the Atomic wrangler, buying drinks and bugging the shit out of the Garret twins. Eventually making a spot for himself at the bar, nestled deep into a beer-stained barstool.
It’s not like he’s an alcoholic, he really isn’t. But if there’s one thing the courier wasn’t good at, coping would be it. He’d never admit it in a million years but most of his chosen family in the 38’ knows it— Ander doesn’t handle his emotions well— so he lets weak alcohol and his fellow patrons at the bar handle it for him.
This night was just about the same as any other night during the weeks that he’d binge on alcohol and bad decisions. The only thing that made this one different was that he’d decided to drag Boone along with him. Which was a very rare occurrence, to say the least. Boone knew, just as much as everyone in their little family, that Ander was, in fact, ‘back on his bullshit’. Although they would likely put it more modest terms, but it’s all the same.
Boone wasn’t doing much of anything, just watching Ander while he told a Garret twin about some crazy adventure he’d gone on which resulted in him losing a toe. Boone would cringe if he wasn’t actually falling asleep in his chair with boredom.
“Francine, I fuckin’ swear- it was the size of a horse.”
“A what? I think you’ve had enough, Six’.
Andwe turned in his seat to face Boone, and began practically yelling over the loud music bellowing out of the wall-mounted speakers above them. If casinos were good at one thing— other than bleeding you dry and giving you the runs from their age-old beer— it would be pounding headaches from the loud music they always insist on playing.
“Boone, look- I told you she wouldn’t believe me.”
Boone took a swig of his overpriced beer before responding dryly.
“Yeah. Can’t imagine why she wouldn’t.”
Before Ander could respond, Boone looked up at Francine through his sunglasses, which Ander thought made him look like a douchebag when worn inside. Yet he could appreciate a bold fashion statement about as much as the next guy, so he was okay with it. Boone huffed his words out like a sigh without an ounce of interest behind them.
“Francine, you mind?”
Boone gestured to a radio, blaring an especially loud Kay Kyser through its speakers.
Francine gave him a look that said ‘really? In my own casino?’ But sighed and walked over to the radio, turning it down anyway.
James yelled something unintelligible from the back room of the casino that had Francine groaning dramatically, quickly storming her way into the back. Leaving the courier and Boone alone at the bar, along with a couple other people loitering around with drinks in their hands and empty pockets. Sketchy individuals, as usual, that would probably make the common patron a bit nervous. Especially knowing they were probably broke off their ass from gambling and in need of some not-so-well-earned cash.
“I mean,” Boone scowled at his bottle. “if you’re gonna give me this watered down crap that insults at least two of my senses, the least you could do is spare the other three.” He groaned before begrudgingly taking another swig.
Boone sighed in annoyance and smelled his beer, his nose wrinkling as he cringed at the foul stench.
“Fuckin’ casino beer.”
“Jesus Boone, ya need to just relax. We’re havin’ fun, r-remember?”
Ander put up his hands towards Boone, palms flat towards him, and flashed a drunken smile. His eyes were half-lidded and his movements were a little slower than usual. The one thing that never faltered, though, even when he was drunk, was his speech. Not the way he said things so much as hoe he worded them. He may stutter a bit, but that quick witted attitude never failed him.
He could be in the middle of a gunfight, getting shot at and still manage to throw out some snarky one-liner in a clear tone before jumping out into the chaos. Boone would guess that’s just his talent, saying things. Some people had brains, some had their brawn; Well, the courier, he had his way with words. His way with words and a helluva lot a’ luck.
Ander hiccuped and looked to the supply room behind the bar, watching as objects could be seen flying. A sibling argument. He grinned giddily as he began.
“Man I- I never get tired of the music. S’ loud, yeah, but hey, better than gunshots.”
He looked over at Boone, quirking a brow.
“Yeah. I guess so.” Boone’s retort was about as dry as the bar-almonds setting between the two of them.
Another swig from his beer and Boone looked down to the bar for a moment, distracting himself by counting cracks in the wood. Ander swiveled back and forth on his stool as he looked up at the high roof of the casino.
“M’ s-serious, Boone-man.“
Boone rolled his eyes at the use of the horrid nickname that the courier insisted on calling him when they were in public.
“The music’s a nice change a’ pace. I’d take the radio over explosions any day.”
He finished his sentence with a lazy laugh and lifted the beer to his lips, taking a quick sip. He was such a happy drunk and it made Boone sick. He didn’t drink, couldn’t, really. He’d get a happy buzz at first, but after a while, when the night slowed down and he was forced to stare at his ceiling, alone. Thoughts— no, memories came back. Shit he didn’t want to deal with. One beer was acceptable, but after that. The drinks were about as bitter as the memories that snuck up on him.
Ander hiccuped loudly before he spoke once again. “I- I remember th’ only time I ever hated the sound of a radio was in the Sierra madre.” Ander made a noise somewhere between a hiccup and a chuckle, waving his hands as he continued. “It was like— uh-“
Ander suddenly stopped speaking and after a few seconds of silence, it caught Boone’s attention. He looked up at the courier as his drunken smile faded and turned a bit more serious, and his tired eyes widened just a bit.
His mouth twitched at the corner and he forced a loud snort, almost a scoff as he finally continued speaking. Attempting to shake off whatever thought or feeling had him frozen for that brief moment.
“It’s- it’s not even that interestin’. Just some dumb thing happened n’ I thought it was neat.”
Ander put on a much less confident smile than before, and for a moment, it looked forced. But he took one long swig of his beer, shutting his eyes tightly as he swallowed, and that drunken grin returned just as soon as it had left.
Boone scanned his face for a moment as the courier looked lazily around the bar, picking at some almonds in a bowl beside him, scratching his arm, doing the usual distracted things he did. All while swiveling in his chair like a little kid waiting happily for a parent without a care in the world. He was always like that. Boone knew, Veronica knew. He was probably more distracted and fidgety than a BuffJet addict, and that was really saying something.
Boone sighed, taking one last gulp of his beer before putting it on the bar.
“Yeah. Well, I'm gonna get out of here.”
He didn’t get up though. He watched Ander for a moment, waiting for him to respond. Boone did appreciate the courier bringing him along but bars, especially casinos, weren’t really his thing. He didn’t really have a thing but it sure as hell wasn’t this. If the courier asked though, he’d stay. No one should have to drink alone. He knew that.
“Aww man, well—“
Ander gave an exaggerated sigh and looked back to the drink in his hand, hiccuping as he swirled the liquid inside the bottle.
“—leaves’ more beer for me. Go get some rest big guy. M-Maybe you’ll be less of an ass tomorrow.”
Ander chuckled and patted Boone on the back as he turned in his seat to walk out. He made his way to the door to leave just as Francine walked back out and towards the bar.
Boone rolled his eyes and mumbled to himself. “Let’s hope so.”
He left, leaving Ander alone to work through whatever shit he was dealing with right now, by himself, once again and with no one in particular to bother. But he’d find someone, of course.
Francine looked to the empty seat beside Ander and the half-empty beer bottle on the counter. Putting on a petty frown at the absence of a buying customer. She made the mistake of looking at Ander as he continued drunkenly swiveling in his seat and grinning at absolutely nothing. She realized her mistake after it was already too late.
“Francine— wow— I ever tell you about the time I had a heatstroke?”
——
Ander stumbled into the elevator with a beer in hand, spilling all over his shirt as he squinted at the control panel. He suddenly felt intimidated by all the buttons and numbers, they all looked kind of like gibberish to him in his drunken state and he wasn’t about to try and decipher them all. He ran his hand over the buttons as if it was brail, squinting unnecessarily at the circles as if it would help him understand them. Something reckless and inebriated inside of him said to just mash all the buttons.
“Presidential suite... Presidential suite..”
He mumbled to himself for a moment while taking a few sips of beer, hiccuping around swallows of weak alcohol before finally landing on the right button. He let out a loud ‘aha’ when he found it, much louder than he’d intended and mashed the button, hard.
He stumbled back a bit and leaned against the wall behind him, a rather satisfied smile on his face at figuring out the numbers. As it is, a toddler could probably read the buttons better than him right now but drunkenness is an ailment as much as anything else, right? So he wasn’t too ashamed. The elevator doors closed, cutting off his view of a slightly confused Victor who had greeted him as he entered the Lucky 38 Casino.
There was a turning in his stomach as the elevator shifted a million different ways, bouncing as he ascended past floors and up to his shared suite. He finished his beer and frowned slightly when it was empty, turning it upside down over his tongue to try and get out whatever he could. He let out a small whine of annoyance and set the bottle gently in the corner of the elevator.
The small room came to a halt and bounced for a moment, something that always gave the weathered courier a bit more anxiety than he’d like to admit. The doors slid open quickly and a voice came out of the speakers above him. “High-roller suite!”
He exited the elevator and looked around for a moment, swaying in place as he squinted into the darkness. There weren’t any lights on, so obviously it was late. He just didn’t know how late. His stomach suddenly made a movement that he really didn’t care for. It sent an acidic taste up into his throat and Ander, being the absolute genius he is, decided food was obviously the remedy for this situation.
He tiptoed about as gracefully and silently as one would expect a drunk person to as he made his way into the kitchen. He knocked over Rex’s food bowl, scattering bits of meat and scraps all over the floor at the threshold. The metal dish clanked around on the tile from his foot kicking it and he quickly stopped its motions with his hand. He put his finger over his mouth and shushed harshly at the bowl, like it was going to hear him and apologize for making noise.
The fridge didn’t have much of anything he wanted. Nothing that he was willing to commit to eating at this hour. If he was going to sacrifice the relative steadiness of his stomach over food, it had to be worth it. He used his Pipboy light to see inside the heavy, metal fridge and hovered closely over the shelves. Trying his hardest to pick out a snack that would really hit the spot.
A box of snack cakes sat on the back of the center shelf, and he knocked over a few things in the process of retrieving it. Which, just like the bowl, he had to remind to be quiet. Apparently, talking to inanimate objects was his thing when he was drunk. That, and making the most noise humanly possible.
He hit his head on the metal frame as he stood up, snack cakes still in hand.
“Fuck- shit-“
Ander cursed to himself, thinking these snacks had better be worth it. The fridge door shut harder than he’d planned and he shuffled quietly over to the bar, ripping the box open. The cakes were much drier than anticipated, but damn, they really hit the spot.
Apparently the wrong spot. Because he instantly felt sicker, causing him to stop for a second to belch and cover his mouth. Trying to keep whatever solids were in his stomach from coming back up. Rex walked in to the kitchen, his metal claws tapping on the floor as he excitedly approached the courier.
“No, no, no—it’s the sleeping hours, Rex. Quiet.”
Rex whined at Ander as he whispered, wagging his tail and lifting his feet happily at the sight of his beloved owner. Who had also spilled his food on the floor, like, two minutes ago. But Rex, being the good boy that he is, wasn’t about to be picky. Rex barked at Ander and the courier was petting his face immediately in an attempt to prevent any future barks. It worked but Ander had to cringe at the loud noise that filled the very quiet, dark room and assaulted his drunken senses.
“Shhhhh. You really w-wanna get me in trouble boy?”
Ander slid down the cabinet behind him, falling onto the tile floor. His back against the counter and Rex in front of him, licking his face excitedly. He was too drunk to care about the slobber and the sharp, half metal claws that were digging into his legs as Rex pawed at him.
“Pretty sure he doesn’t know what you’re saying,”
Ander’s eyes quickly shot up to the doorway a few feet in front of him.
“Considering— you know— he’s a dog.”
Ander’s drunken smile was about ten times bigger than it had been at any other point in the night. He watched Arcade as he walked into the kitchen, stopping just a couple feet in front of Ander. He looked up at Arcade through low-lidded eyes and grinned lazily at the doctor.
“Although, I guess you wouldn’t know, considering you’re drunk.”
Arcade wasn’t really mad. Just rather annoyed. Being woken up at whatever ungodly hour of the night it was to his drunken boyfriend sifting through the kitchen and making about as much noise as you’d expect, well, it was enough to make anyone a little aggravated.
“Okay- y-you’re mad. That’s... that’s uh-“
Ander shut his eyes tightly as if he was trying to remember a word or something alike but opened them again after a moment, like he’d given up.
“Hey. My ankle kinda hurts.”
He looked down at his foot and waggled it from side to side, the drunken, slightly confused smile still plastered on his face.
Arcade looked like he’d just woken up. His disheveled, blonde hair going in all directions and his clothes looking a lot more casual than they usually did. He’d definitely been in bed, at the very least.
“M’ sorry if I woke you. I mean, l-I tried to tell the fridge to be quiet but, uh, issa’ fridge.”
Arcade stared down at him with crossed arms and an entirely done look on his face. It was almost amusing, seeing the courier go on these binges every few weeks or so. It’s not like it went over Arcade’s head, he knew why he was doing it. It was always after something bad had happened. Maybe a mission went wrong and ended in unnecessary casualties. Maybe he’d miscalculated a plan or fucked up a blueprint and beat himself up for it. Someone might have been killed, people hurt or inconvenienced. Leaving Ander to stew in his own despondency, groveling in the mouth of a bottle for forgiveness from himself.
It was always something that bugged him enough that the feelings and turmoil he’d built up over so many months, maybe years, had finally boiled over. He only ever went out and drank and did stupid shit to distract himself from the real, personal issues. If sober Ander couldn’t handle it, drunk Ander sure as hell would. Probably by getting drunk and throwing out all of the caps he had on him because ‘only rich pricks horde caps’. Arcade was especially not a fan of that little stunt.
Rex licked Ander’s face and whined, walking away when the attention was no longer only on him.
“Do you know what time it is?”
Arcade questioned him in a slightly annoyed tone, but he wasn’t mad, not yet. It was a kind of annoyance a guardian would have. Like a parent catching their kid sneaking out at midnight and giving the whole ‘I’m not mad, just disappointed.’ speech. His annoyance was rooted in fear more than anger.
“You smell like the ass end of a beer cooler. Have you actually had any real liquid tonight? Other than beer, I mean?”
Ander repositioned his legs to sit cross-legged, running a hands through his scraggly hair as he thought for a moment.
“You know, I-I swallowed a real big loogie like— I dunno—ten minutes ago and that felt pretty hydrating.”
Arcade hardly cringed at the gross image that Ander gave him. Ander’s response was about as witty as it usually was. The answer was obvious to both of them and he knew it. He just didn’t see why they couldn’t get past the formalities and straight to the ‘you shouldn’t be doing this kind of thing anymore.’ speech that Arcade usually gave him when he’d come home like this.
It’s not like he was above processing his feelings. He wasn’t. He knew what he did and why he did it, usually, but it’s just who he is. He can’t really stop when it’s all he knows how to do. Some people cope by crying, some people cope by killing. Well, Ander, he copes by not coping, if that makes sense. It doesn’t make sense to Arcade but he does get it, in a way.
But he did have a lot of emotions stirring inside him. A lot of things he couldn’t forget that kept him awake long enough that he’d stay up even later than usual, busying himself with whatever he could. Anything to distract him from his mind. A lot of things that couldn’t stay locked up inside him for long.
“I’ll take that as a no, then.”
Arcade sighed and walked over to the sink beside Ander, pulling out a cup from the cabinet and filling it with water. Ander’s smile left him for a moment as he intently watched Arcade move, retrieving the much needed fluids for the stubborn courier. He stepped in front of the fridge, digging through the freezer portion for a moment to get some ice.
“Arcade. I-I feel some kind of... crankiness inside me.” Ander rubbed his temples, pressing hard against his head in a dramatized manner. “Th’ desire to whine is u-unstoppable. My throat. What is this feeling. This disease, this disor-“
“You’re thirsty, you drunken imbecile.”
Ander lolled his head upwards, casting an unsure glance to Arcade. He shook his head, quickly dismissing the sentence from his mind
“You know, I— I dunno what that even means.”
Arcade walked back over to Ander and handed him the glass of cold water. He looked at it for a moment in his hands before taking a few long gulps, shutting his eyes tightly as he swallowed over half of the glass.
He dropped the glass to his lap and leaned his head back against the cabinet, wiping water off his chin and suppressing a burp as best he could.
“You- You know what? You worry too much. M’ fine, Cade’ “
“You know, I recall another time you told me that, just before you threw up on my shoes from rad-poisoning.”
“I-I don’t like the needle on the Rad-Away!”
Arcade leaned down in front of Ander, lifting the hand with the glass in it to the courier’s mouth. Arcade’s patience was fading ever so slowly.
“Just shut up and drink so we don’t have a repeat of last time.”
“You know what? I don’t have to take this f-from you.”
Ander spoke like a toddler refusing to eat his peas, and Arcade was way too tired to humor him for it. He looked at Ander with a bored expression, his eyebrows raised at the younger man, almost begging him to say it seriously enough that Arcade could finally bail and go back to bed. There were a few moments of silence between them. Arcade’s end was dripping with impatience and Ander’s was giddy, fading in and out between concentrated on defiance and tired enough to comply. They simply stared at each other.
“Ander.”
“Mhm.”
Arcade looked him dead in the eye as he spoke in a voice seething with exhaustion.
“I’m like— this close to strangling you to unconsciousness.” Arcade held his thumb and pointer-finger up, giving the smallest of spaces between them. Ander half-heartedly gasped and stared at Arcade for a moment before hesitantly mumbling.
“Y-You wouldn’t.”
“I’m a doctor, putting people to sleep non-lethally is kind of my thing.”
“You’re just— just cruel.”
Arcade waited, and Ander shook his head deliriously as he finally gave up, drinking the water left inside his cup. Arcade sighed and stood up again, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.
“Thank you. Finally.”
Ander finished the glass and gently set it on the counter above him, giving Arcade a miniature heart attack as he almost dropped the glass on his head in the process. He looked up at Arcade for a moment and studied him as he stared down at the drunk in the floor.
He wanted to talk to Arcade about how he felt, way more than he’d like to admit. But he couldn’t. There was a nervous knot inside his throat, tight and thick, like speaking through a mouth full of water. His stomach dropped at the mere thought. He didn’t want to for a few reasons but at the end of the night, when all he had was his own thoughts and feelings to dwell on, he couldn’t help but seek a release. It didn’t have to be Arcade, he really didn’t intend on it being him, but he didn’t really have any other possible outlet. The wasteland was certainly short on therapists and kind shoulders to cry on, not like he’d ever want one, but it was a known fact. He didn’t have time to be vulnerable right now, not with everything he had on his plate. Now isn’t the time.
“Hey, you ever- you ever think maybe-“
Ander paused in the middle of his sentence, furrowing his brow for a few seconds. He looked a bit more conflicted than he’d intended to and Arcade could see it. He knew he could, most likely. But just like he’d done at the bar, he quickly waved it off. Giving a smile for compensation. It wasn’t all intentional manipulation of his face, it was all genuine. After all, he was drunk, he couldn’t exactly pick and choose what emotions to show like that.
Arcade quirked an eyebrow at him, waiting expectantly for him to continue.
“Ahh nothin. Just— just forget it.”
Arcade scanned him for a moment with his arms crossed. When had the bags under his eyes gotten so dark? Every inch of the courier’s face had screamed “Weathered Wanderer” when they’d first met. And now, somehow, it looked even more beaten. Aged beyond its years.
“Alright then. Come on,” Arcade dropped his arms to his side. “I’m going to bed and so are you.”
Arcade turned to face the door but stopped and stared expectantly at Ander, throwing his hands up questioningly when he didn’t move.
“You’re not getting up because...?”
Ander flashed Arcade a devious grin. “I don’t want to.”
Arcade sighed and pressed his eyes shut tightly, grabbing the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses.
“I really don’t have the energy for this. Would you just- please just get up.”
Arcade couldn’t count how many times he’d done this since he first started staying at theLucky 38. Since the day Ander had wandered into the Mormon Fort, doing whatever mission he was on at the time, not even thinking about a companion but somehow convincing Arcade to leave with him. It’s not like he’d do it every week, not even every month. But it happened. And he dreaded it when it did.
But Arcade usually knew when it was coming. He hated seeing it too, watching the courier spiral into a fit of drunken bad decisions because pretending nothing mattered was easier than acknowledging his problems. Arcade wasn’t a psychologist, but he could recognize a few patterns of declining mental health and stability, not like Ander was anywhere close to emotionally unstable. But he knew this couldn’t be good for him. He was hugging a dangerous line of self-destruction and Arcade wasn’t about to stand on the sidelines and watch him fall.
Arcade watched Ander for a moment, but he didn’t move. He just sat there and stared at Arcade from his spot on the floor a few feet away. Ander’s smile looked solemn for a moment and his gaze shifted, passing a glance towards the floor at Arcade’s feet. He was no longer looking at the other man, but I was beneath him. He began to mumble softly.
“You’re just doin’ this cause you have to….”
It was almost too low for Arcade to hear, but he did hear it. And it turned his frustration into a bubbling anger.
“Im— what—because I have to?”
Arcade shifted to face Ander completely and walked a couple feet closer to him. His tone much more agitated than it should’ve been.
“I don’t have to do this for you, you know that? I do this because I want to. Because I care about you.”
Arcade spoke quickly, his voice raised a bit higher than before. More of a ‘loudly informant’ tone rather than an angry one. Arcade wasn’t really the type of person to get angry, not angry enough to yell anyway. He looked at Ander with an expression that made the courier feel regret at his poor choice of words. The doctor’s face had a look of confusion and he was offended that Ander would say what he had. Ander simply looked at him with a pained expression, eyes pleading for a moment while Arcade spoke at him. His brow furrowed and his tired eyes looking up at him like a kicked dog.
“Yeah. Yeah. S-Sorry. That was stupid...”
Ander knew Arcade cared about him, he wasn’t blind or stupid. But sometimes, he wished it wasn’t true, he wished Arcade only did these things out of obligation and not out of love. He only felt like this when he was drunk, those were usually the times he acted the worst and had time to reflect on it all. But he really wanted nothing more than for his boyfriend to hold him close and tell him that he wasn’t a burden. That it wasn’t hard to deal with him and his scattered, sometimes nihilistic outlook on life and the actions that had gotten the two of them into shit more times than he could remember.
It’s happened before, just a couple of times when his paranoia got the better of him and suddenly, he was hating himself and losing sleep over the person he was. Arcade could see it was dragging on him. Through some of the worst nights, he’d use physical touch to slowly drag Ander back to reality. The courier wasn’t good with words when it came to feelings, Arcade knew that. But they could both understand the love behind touch, and sometimes, things got bad enough that he really wouldn’t mind indulging for a night.
“Why the hell would you say that kind of Brahmin-shit?”
Ander shook his head for a moment, blinking hard before giving a drunken, probably a little forced, smile to Arcade. .
“M’ drunk I guess….”
He laughed a bit at his own words. Of course he was drunk, he knew that. Arcade sighed through gritted teeth as he stared down at Ander.
“A ebrius hominis cogitationes verba sobria hominis.”
Ander looked like he’d never heard a more confusing sentence in his life. He leaned his head back, squinting at Arcade.
“A— what?”
“A drunk man’s words are a sober man’s thoughts.”
“Man, ya’ gotta stop pulling that Latin crap on me, not when M’ drunk.”
“Ander-“
“M’ serious. I’m calling it now. No more L-Latin around drunk me. S’ just too much-“ Ander waved his hands in the air as if he could seat away those big, confusing words like flies over a plate of food.
“Ander!” Arcade raised his voice just slightly and caught Ander’s attention, finally. Ander stared up at him and blinked for a moment, watching Arcade before finally chuckling softly under his breath. He didn’t feel like arguing anymore.
“If you w-want me up, yer’ gonna have to help me.”
The courier held out his hands, palms facing up as he waited for Arcade to take them. There was a moment of apprehension before Arcade finally walked over and grabbed both the other man’s hands, pulling him up to his feet. Ander immediately stumbled and fell into Arcade’s chest, who groaned as he had to hold his drunken boyfriend upright.
The drunken brunette just huffed out a delirious laugh, allowing Arcade to pull his arm over his shoulder, supporting him as they moved towards the bedroom. He could probably walk by himself if he tried, but why, in a million years, would he give up this contact.
They neared the bedroom door and Arcade grabbed the knob slowly, pushing it open as they crossed the threshold. He shut the door behind him cautiously, not wanting anyone else to fall victim to the courier’s late-night escapade through the kitchen, looking for food and other sustenance in his drunken state.
Arcade moved the two of them to the bed, plopping Ander down on the edge of the mattress. His side of the bed. He stepped back and put his hands on his hips, sighing heavily as his eyes surveyed the courier, who only grinned back at him. He doesn’t have to do this anymore, he shouldn’t have to.
“Why did you say that?”
“W-What?”
Ander looked up at him quizzically, squinting at the man as he waited for him to continue.
“What you said in the kitchen. That I do this because I have to. Why did you say that?”
Ander shook his head and turned to the bed beside him, as if he was actually going to put himself to bed just to avoid this conversation.
“Arcade, I’m-I’m just not thinkin’ clearly.”
“No— that’s bull and you know it.”
Ander looked up at him again with a soft frown. Arcade knew him too well, certainly better than Ander would ever want, but about as much as he needed.
“Oh.” He glanced to the side for a second, as though he was contemplating it. “Is it?”
Ander spoke as though he was genuinely asking, as if he’d just been presented with an idea he hadn’t considered before now. He didn’t know why the idea of talking made him so uneasy right now. In fact, he could think of a million reasons but none that he was willing to contemplate in-depth. Arcade sighed, dropping his hands by his side. Ander huffed out a nervous chuckle and brought his Pipboy up to his face, squinting at the bright, amber light.
“Forget it. We need some—ah— need some tunes.”
“Ander-“
“Nah I’m serious, we need some nice jigs like—like right now-“
Arcade stepped forward and caught the courier’s hand before he could press play amidst clicking buttons and turning dials, scrolling through the few stations offered to them. Ander furrowed his brow and looked up at the doctor, scanning his expression for a moment as he waited for him to speak.
“I think you need to… hmm….”
Arcade stopped himself and sighed, slowly pulling his hand away from the courier’s, and instead moving to sit beside him. The mattress dipped under the weight of the two men on its edge. Ander watched Arcade move but his eyes quickly settled on the carpet beneath them, knowing what his boyfriend was about to say.
Arcade actually didn’t really know what he was going to say though. He had the basic idea, “why are you getting drunk so often?” “Why are you acting like an idiot?” “Why did you have to eat that last box of fancy lads?” Arcade felt like if he sighed kept sighing, he’d suck all the air out of the room. He didn’t want to show Ander any disappointment, to let him see that side of him that he knew the courier was looking for. Resentment. Their eyes met for a quick, passing glance before Anders looked back to the floor.
“You know I care about you, right?”
Ander was caught off guard by the question. Caught up in wondering if it was even a question at all. He looked over at Arcade with wider eyes than before, yet his expression maintained a soft fear beneath the surface.
“I mean, you’re drunk, so your cognitive functions are piss-poor but—“
Arcade carded fingers through his hair, disheveled and greasy, and looked tiredly at the courier.
“—there’s gotta be enough sense still rattling around in that brain of yours to know that I still care.”
Ander stared at him for a moment. He opened his mouth to speak a time or two but closed it again, sighing heavily as he thought of how he should answer, until finally coming to a conclusion.
“Y-Yeah, o’ course.”
“Yeah? Then please explain to me why you said what you did.”
Ander looked away, stumped again. His gaze fell on anything it could, everything besides Arcade. And the blond waited for a long, silent minute. Arcade would give him as much time as he needed, hours if he has to, as long as it meant the courier could take the time he needed to figure this all out in his own head. Arcade watched his eyes flick from chair to chair, table to table, like he could almost hear the gears turning in his head. In his tired, inebriated state, he knew it would only be that much harder for him to form a coherent response. So, he waited.
“I… I just….”
He waved his hand in the air, rotating it as if he was trying to get the verbal ball rolling. Anything to help him think of the right choice of words.
“I thought m-maybe you— gah— I don’t know, I just-“
Arcade stared silently, waiting for Ander to finish. He knew that the other man’s vocabulary lacked when it came to things like this, feelings. It was almost funny to him, how he could talk circles around anyone he wanted. But when it came to simply explaining emotions, every bit of sense left him and he suddenly became a little kid, struggling to remember the basics of commutation.
Ander was trying, he really was. Although not in the ways he should be. His mind was working more on how to explain himself without revealing too much rather than just how to explain. But the more he thought about it, the more impossible even that seemed. He wanted to vent so badly, but now that he was actually faced with the opportunity to do so, he knew that he probably wouldn’t even have the words to explain it all.
He looked at Arcade while he continued to stutter, opening and closing his mouth like a fish choking on air. Yet Arcade never once stopped him, never looked annoyed or angry. There wasn’t even a trace of judgment on his face and it made Ander a lot more uncomfortable than it should. He looked into the blond’s soft, green eyes, his patient expression never fleeting, and his heart broke a little. This man had so much patience for him and he had never really stopped to appreciate it.
Ander would spend hours digging through abandoned stores and warehouses, scrounging up useless scrap and fighting off pests in the process. He’d sometimes go off the set path just to sort through piles of Old World scrap— crashed vertibirds, broken down cars— anything he could find. He never slowed down either, once he was done with one thing, it was on to the next. Arcade had to have been tired of chasing him through rubble, getting shot at by legionaries screaming ‘retribution!’ all while Ander simply laughed and kept moving.
Yet he saw him now, without an ounce of impatience on his face, completely relaxed and waiting for the scattered courier to find whatever words necessary to explain himself. Ander swallowed his pride, along with whatever walls he’d built up around himself that were keeping his emotions locked away and gritted his teeth, exhaling hard. He couldn’t keep doing this, this whole routine where he acted like nothing was wrong when really, so much emotion was bubbling up inside him, threatening to overflow. So much emotion that he wouldn’t admit he had, not without being forced to do so, at least.
Ander finally mumbled a response, looking like a scared kid explaining why he broke a vase or spilled his drink.
“I thought… I wished you’d stop caring.”
Arcade looked about as surprised as Ander had been expecting, inquiring with confusion.
“What? Why would you want that?”
Ander looked to the floor again, shrugging his shoulders.
“Dunno’. Just thought— maybe it’d be easier.”
“Easier than what?”
Damnit, no one new how to better stump Ander than Arcade, not a single person. Ander lifted his head up to look at the wall, his eyes wide with confusion as he went through the motions, once again, of trying to decipher and explain his feelings.
“Ya’ know, just— just easier than caring. It’s.. hard to care sometimes. I-I thought maybe you’d be better off caring about someone else….”
Someone easier. The courier’s voice trailed off, his words seeping with uncertainty and insecurity. Ander couldn’t look at Arcade right now, but he knew the other man was probably a bit offended, maybe angry with him for believing such stupid ideas. He knew his insecurities were unfounded, existing on nothing but pure paranoia and speculation. But these days, those two things were all he knew how to be.
Arcade gave him a look that said more with a glance than his words ever could. “You have to be smart enough to know I don’t actually think that.” His words were low and soft.
“Y-Yeah— I told you, it’s stupid.”
Ander shook his head, his mind whirring with regret and shame for sharing even a morsel of emotion. God, why did he do that. But Arcade spoke quickly enough to correct that train of thought, a soothing voice bringing Ander out of his racing thoughts.
“No, it’s not.”
Arcade put his hand on Ander’s shoulder, squeezing just slightly. The courier looked away to the other side of the room, avoiding Arcade’s eyes to shy away from whatever confrontation he could.
“Ander. Talk to me.”
Ander just kept staring. His eyes never fell from the door for even a second, like he was planning on jumping up and running out while he still could. God, why did it have to hurt so much to open up.
“I-I Just-“
He stuttered once again, but this time, his shoulders began to shake. His body trembling as emotions overflowed and he had to ask himself if he was really about to do this, in front of one of the few people he really cared about. The one person that mattered the most to him. If this went south…. What if Arcade didn’t want anything to do with him afterwards? What if his worries were really justified and he’d end up ruining whatever chance of intimacy they may have had together.
Shame and sorrow spread through his chest like wildfire. His lungs feeling tighter and his eyes burning as tears welled up at their corners, clouding his vision and making him feel more ashamed than he could possibly describe. And all for no good reason.
“I just keep tellin’ myself you’d be— we’d be better off if I changed. M-Maybe if I wasn’t here to slow you down...”
Arcade’s hand slid up from the courier’s shoulder to run fingers through the brunette locks of hair. A comfortingly invasive touch while Ander struggled to speak. Arcade eventually placed his hand on the other side of his head, pulling him closer and allowing him to lean on his shoulder. The courier’s body shook as his face turned pink, eyes welling with tears. He could only shut his eyes, rub them with the back of his hand like he could close them off for good. He leaned into Arcade’s shoulder, burying his face in the fabric of his shirt.
This was more than he could handle, more than he had the emotional capacity to express. He couldn’t remember a time that he’d cried in front of someone since he was a teenager, and even then, it was hard. Arcade just wrapped his arms around him, rubbing his back and running fingers through his hair. Anything to soothe and calm the courier as he worked through his own emotions. Tearing down walls that he’d spent months—hell, years—building, only to be broken completely in the span of a few minutes. It was hard. Arcade knew that, and he wasn’t about to rush him through it.
“I-I keep thinking that I-“
He sniffled hard, wiping his cheeks with his calloused palm. Arcade turned his head to the side, leaning down a bit to kiss the top of the courier’s head. A long contact between lips and hair, stilling Ander as he felt the warmth on his scalp. The security that came with it. His insecurities melted away, little by little. He took a deep, shaky breath and began speaking.
“I just don’t— I think, sometimes, that I’m too much for you. Like m-maybe I’m—I dunno— going too fast for you…?”
Ander wiped a freckled, tear-stained cheek, clearing his throat before continuing.
“I can’t stop— doin’ things. Goin’ too fast for you to keep up.”
He pulled away from Arcade, moving away a bit to lock eyes with the other man. Finally making eye contact and letting Arcade get a good look at him. At his expression that held more pain than Arcade had ever seen it hold before. As though he’d managed to encompass years of grief in one expression. It was odd, very... different. But he was thankful that the courier was finally opening up. Christ knows they could both benefit from it. Ander looked like a kicked dog and it took much effort on Arcade’s part to not see him as just that. It broke his heart to see the courier like this, thinking that he needed to change himself for him. His blue eyes were glazed, streaming wet lines down his cheeks. Everything he’d been harboring, every ounce of pent up energy and emotion had broken free and it poured forth like a waterfall. The dam had broken, and if Arcade were anyone else, he wouldn't have seen how long overdue this was. Because unless you knew him, no one would ever be the wiser. And the worst part was that Ander didn’t consider it “hiding”. Not the way others would, anyway. It was second-nature to push those feelings down and pretend they weren’t there. Now, it was all out.
The courier shook, his voice cracking on nearly each syllable. “A-Arcade. Is it— am I too much?”
Arcade smiled softly at his stubborn courier. He couldn’t wrap his mind around how someone so perfect in his eyes could think so little of themselves.
“Absolutely not. We’ve been traveling with each other—what— a few months?”
Arcade leaned in closer to Ander, their faces only inches apart. He felt as though he couldn’t speak genuinely enough.
“And not once have I ever gotten tired of following you. I never will.”
Ander stared at him for a moment, looking back and forth between his green eyes. Thinking of something to say. A soft smile appeared on his face and he huffed out a tired laugh, bearing yellowed teeth to Arcade.
“Dang. That—uh— that must get old, huh?”
Arcade smiled back at him and leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together and looking into the other man’s eyes.
“Oh, I wish it did.”
Ander laughed out loud, probably the only laugh Arcade had ever heard that didn’t have snarky, sarcastic undertones. His mouth opened wide and his eyes squinting as he smiled. God, he could get used to that sound.
The courier eventually stilled, the drunken, giddy grin reappearing on his face and Arcade hadn’t realized how much he’d been missing it.
“Y-You look—“
Ander stuttered and quickly sighed, sorting through his thoughts once again as he tried to formulate a coherent sentence.
“I don’t know if it’s because I’m drunk, but you look so darn kissable.”
Arcade chuckled softly before closing the gap between them. His chapped lips landing softly on Ander’s. A soothing gesture and a very nice change of pace.
Arcade pulled back first, but Ander leaned into it more, chasing one last taste of Arcade’s lips before they finally parted. Arcade looked at the courier for a moment before placing one last peck on his forehead.
“I’d love to keep this going, but I’m a little too old to be pulling all-nighters.”
Ander just stared at him for a moment, his blue eyes turned bloodshot from crying and his face now a soft, content expression.
“So if we could—you know—get in bed before I collapse with exhaustion. That’d be great.”
The blonde gestured to the rest of the bed behind them and turned around, crawling across the covers to the other side. Ander followed.
They laid under the sheets for a while, Arcade falling victim to the sweet release of sleep rather quickly with Ander soon to follow. He was almost on top of Arcade, his face buried in the other man’s neck as he huddled close to him, his arms wrapping around the doctor’s lean torso.
Ander didn’t get many restful nights, he hadn’t for most of his life and these days were no exception. His mind was always running too fast for him to catch up, leaving him a nervous mess in the sheets. But tonight, he felt more content, more relieved, than he had in a long time.
If there was ever a night where he’d actually get some well-earned sleep, this one, would surely be it.