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Kicking up sand and dust on his way was a temporary satisfaction. He could hear the sloshing of water from the bottle he carried in his hand; fidgeting it in his hands as he stared down the door in his line of sight.
“Fucking ‘course,” is all he could think to mutter beneath his breath; this, he was sure, could only end in one of two ways.
One, the little shit could have completely forgotten him, and he’d just have to not mention a word and hope it stayed that way— Or, two, he would remember, and, well. Well, he just didn’t fucking know. It wasn’t hard for him to distance himself emotionally for the most part, but that definitely would go to shit when it came to Party. Destroya help him, he just got to the realization the punk wasn’t dead. And fuck, hell if he didn’t miss him and his stupid face. Of all the damn times to leave him alone to keep watch over someone going through withdrawal, it would be someone he knew this time.
He also had the whole ex thing to worry about; god, did he even count as an ex? If Dr. D can just keep his mouth shut, none of the others will have a clue, and it’ll just be between him and Party to figure out.
(If he even remembered him, and fuck, did Ghoul even want him to remember?)
Still, the little
(not so little now, even if he’d already been taller than Ghouls short ass; it looked like the former red head had shot up in height since he’d last seen him)
basket case needed to stay hydrated until Kobra got back with the meds. If Kid found Party dead when he got back cause Ghouls stubborn ass didn’t force him to chug some water or stop him from choking on his own vomit? Yeah, he’d be a dead man. So he decided to not be a little bitch,
(“Rude towards bitches, ya dumbass,” Party snorted out, punching him in the arm before blowing smoke out of his mouth from his last drag on the cigarette— it was a sight to behold, even if his arm hurt from the hit)
turned the handle of the damn door, and stared at the immobile body laying chained to the broken radiator. He took one step forward, not quite sure how to start. The idiot wasn’t dead yet, right? He’d only been in here, what, 30 minutes since Kobra left? Fuck, hell if he knew! Ghoul hesitantly shuffled his foot on the ground, licked his dry lips, and breathed out,
“You alive, dumbass?”
A slight twitch from the body proved him wrong; definitely alive, and he could hear the crack of stiff muscles pop as said dumbass shuffled up to a half conscious sitting position. He felt a little bad, maybe; but he may also have felt a little bit of something else, too.
“I don’t know, what do you think, jackass?”
Cranky, dehydrated, but alive. Bitchy, too; he’d be liar if he said it didn’t comfort him a bit to hear it. Speechless and preferring not to admit to his feelings, he tossed the bottle towards Party. His mood was to be expected; 10 hours into withdrawal and a headache at least was sure to have started already. (If not worse, although he didn’t look like he was willing to show it to Ghoul.)
Frowning, said man reached for it as it landed close to his free hand. Gingerly he lifted it with his free hand, shooting a half glance at Ghoul— like he didn’t trust him. (Just shoot him right in the chest, why don’t you? Would hurt less; probably.)
“It’s not poisoned, I can promise you that. Your brother would murder me.”
Leaning on the door frame and staying away seemed to be the best bet for not running away screaming, so he did. (Screaming internally though? Done, and done.)
Another glance, longer this time, and then finally he unscrewed the cap. That frown went away quick the second he got a sip, and soon the whole bottle was empty faster than he could blink. Was it healthy to drink that fast? Would he puke? God, he didn’t want to clean any vomit today. Or any day, really now that he was thinking about it. He could’ve zoned out in his thoughts, he really could’ve, leaning against the door frame, mind racing—
“Where did... Kobra go?” He looked uncomfortable even saying the name.
“Supply run. You’re still not completely in withdrawal yet, and he wants to be ready when it hits.” Simple, easy answer. Okay; he could do this.
“And they left me with you?” Ouch. And suddenly, he was rethinking the whole ‘he could do this’ notion.
“Sorry sweet cheeks, I’m not the best for supply runs. Your brother’s great with hacking the vends, and Jets the best around when it comes to negotiating.”
A pause; thinking over his options of what to say, and finally—
“I just blow stuff up.” Yep. Good, endearing quality, in his mind at least.
“Great.” And oh boy, if the sarcasm didn’t drip heavy from that one. He could almost taste it in the air.
“Well, it could’ve been worse. You could be left with no one and die of dehydration?” A shrug, hands in the air. I mean, that’s basically true right? At least Ghoul thought so, but Party’s face didn’t look like he wanted to agree with his logic. Exasperation was a pretty look for Party; he should pull that face more. A growing wide, shit-eating grin from Ghoul seemed to shake him out of it unfortunately, and Party’s face closed back off into that simple frown. Actually, studying him close now just left Ghoul with a weird feeling pit in his stomach, and he didn’t much appreciate it.
Where there should be a mop of bright, flaming red hair, was sad, dark, short hair. (Office regulation, he noted. Awful look for someone as rebellious as him. Where was the tempting length of red he loved to tug when annoyed? Gone, it was gone.) The face though. That face never aged a day did it? Circles perpetually under the eyes were still there, and those eyes might not be as showy with their emotions as they once were, but they were still the same. Seems even regulated sleep schedules couldn’t get rid of his lovely eye circles, and damn if that wasn’t satisfying to think about. He was staring a bit too long though, as Party jerked the bottle down from where he was holding it up, screwed it shut, and quickly averted his gaze away.
“Was that it?” Quiet, mousy, and— and it was enough to shake him out of it.
Clearing his throat and lifting his hand to mess with the hair on the back of his head to cover up his embarrassment, Ghoul could only nod, mouth hanging slightly open.
“Um, y-yeah. That’s all.”
The wall had a couple spots he had never noticed, didn’t it? Well, it did now anyway. Anything to not focus on that face.
“Toss it back, would ya?” He asked, and after sucking in a shaky breath to continue,
“Kid says that you’ll probably run a fever first, so I’ll be back in a bit with more water. Um, just don’t uh, move.”
“Noted.”
More confidence, one eyebrow raised, and this time, a wrist lifting up to make the handcuffs make a clunking sound against metal. Party’s other hand tossed the bottle back over.
“Right, right, right...” Embarrassed, rambling, and just quite frankly done with this situation, Ghoul quickly grabbed the bottle and bolted as fast as he could. He had at least 12 more hours until Kobra got his happy ass back here to take over his stupid brothers (who might never even remember him again) care, and he’d probably start going into the violent part of withdrawal within the next 6. And shit, he was expected to keep him alive until then?
Fuck.