Work Text:
Bernard doesn’t drink anymore.
He’ll smoke, but he refuses to touch any alcohol. He’s seen things. He’s done things. It doesn’t sit well with him.
Bernard has had his fair share of it, enough for the rest of his life if he’s being honest. People at school had ways to get cases, and the cult always had wine . Looking back on it he thinks that maybe he was drunk for a long time. It all swirled in his memory, nothing ever coming out fully put together. Never complete.
Maybe that’s what terrifies him the most.
He doesn’t fucking know .
Sometimes Bernard wants to tell Tim the truth, not like he was lying in the first place, but he just held back. But Bernard doesn’t think he can even do that because he can’t remember .
Bernard doesn’t drink anymore.
-----
Tim moved to a boat . A boat in a massive marina that creeped Bernard the hell out.
It was fine. Really, it was fine.
Bernard could handle it.
Bernard couldn’t handle it.
The water at night was black, a void that could swallow him whole if he so much as dipped a finger in. Watching it lap at the side of Tim’s boat scared the hell out of him. He felt like it would reach up to grab him, yank him in, and suffocate him.
That feeling suddenly rushes over him, making him breath hard and tear his eyes away from it. It feels so real that he thinks just for a second that maybe he’s drowned before.
Bernard rushes through the door and down the stairs. Tim is messing around in the kitchen, crouched down on the floor and shoving at something when Bernard pads down the stairs. He whips around to Bernard and shoots up.
“What- uhh, Bernard? What are you doing here?” he asks hurriedly. Bernard looks at him curiously.
“You gave me a spare key, remember? Figured that was your way of saying come over,” he says slowly. Tim’s eyes dart around the room for a second before he starts taking steps towards Bernard.
“I mean yeah but… listen Berns now’s not a good time. You gotta talk to me before you come. I can’t read your mind,” Tim says. Bernard frowns.
Something about that ticks him off. Maybe he’s overreacting, but this was how it started.
He’s not a snooper, won’t dig into someone else’s shit if it isn’t meant to be dug up, and he’s definitely not an idiot. He knows Tim has something more going on, knows that Tim doesn’t tell him things too, but he just hoped that they both had a mutual understanding on how they were going to treat it.
“You could have told me that from the start you know, I get it. Don’t have to be so cagey about it,” he starts, “ You always climb up at mine so I thought it was cool.”
Tim shakes his head and looks behind him for a second before moving Bernard back up the stairs.
“It’s- It’s different. Look you’ve gotta go, I’ve got so stuff going on,” he says.
Bernard is suddenly a little more than ticked off.
It’s a two way street damn it, he doesn’t need permission like some kind of toddler . If Tim get’s to come and go as he pleases, so can he. Bernard sucked it up and walked through the pits of the void to get here so he would appreciate some sort of acknowledgement.
He wouldn’t even care if it was a simple, “It's my space and I just need a warning beforehand.”
The cherry on top was Tim’s shadiness. Bernard doesn’t hide his shit like that, nobody hides their shit like that unless it’s bad .
“The hell are you doing here?”
“What are you talking about, I never said that.”
“It’s no one, just get out.”
When they get to the top of the stairs the paranoia rears its head. Bernard digs the key out of his pocket and shoves it in Tim’s hand.
“Don’t need this then. Tell whoever is in your bed right now that you like to be the bigger spoon,” Bernard says, tone flat and refusing to meet Tim’s eyes. He starts to walk towards the dock, the dark water still lapping at the sides.
Tim freezes and then shakes himself out of it, reaching forward to grab Bernard’s arm but he wrenches it out of his grasp.
“Bernard what? What are you talking about? There’s no one,” Tim starts to rush out. Bernard steps onto the dock and Tim follows. “You’re freaking out over nothing-”
Bernard whips around.
“I’m not freaking out , you’re being a dick and I’m not doing this again !”
Tim frowns.
“What do you mean again? Bernard, nothing has happened.”
“Then I don’t know what the hell you’re being so weird about when I showed up,” Bernard says. Tim runs a hand over his face and sighs. Bernard scowls. “Oh what am I too emotional for you? Not happy that I don’t duck my head and let it all fly over? I’m not some kind of ditz that turns a blind eye.”
Tim shakes his head.
“No that’s not- Bernard would you please just calm down?”
“Would you chill the fuck out?”
“Fuck off Tim.” Bernard spits. He turns back around and leaves.
Tim doesn’t follow him.
-----
There’s a pool in his backyard.
His parents had gotten it because for some delusional reason they had tricked themselves into believing that’s what the high class do. They never used it. Well, sometimes Bernard did, or used to. He hasn’t for a long time.
He doesn’t like pools anymore.
There’s a lot of things Bernard doesn’t like or do anymore.
He’s pissed when he gets back, and he’s glad his parents are out for the weekend or else that would be a whole other problem for him to deal with. He’s been trying to find a place to move before they kick him to the curb completely and he’s been having a fucking ball of a time doing it.
His original plan was Tim. Tim had hinted at it, the occasional mention of the spare room in his apartment, but then he moved.
Bernard wasn’t living on a fucking boat. Too much water.
And now he doesn’t even know if Tim would have even wanted Bernard to move in with him. If his reaction to Bernard’s sudden presence is anything to go on, then Bernard would rather live on the streets than tip toe around the whole time. He can’t do that anymore. Not again .
He doesn’t even know if he has a boyfriend to move in with anymore.
Bernard falls forward against the fridge, forehead pressing against the cool metal as he thinks. He sighs and opens it up, not quite sure what he was looking for, but knowing how he wanted to feel.
His eyes catch his mother’s wine cabinet.
Bernard ends up with a bottle in hand in his parent’s bedroom.
He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He knows exactly what he’s doing.
The bottle is empty now.
He hates this stuff doesn’t he? No, he’s getting over it. But he doesn’t drink?
Tim can cry himself to sleep. Bernard can face his own demons, just watch.
The window in his parents room mirrors Bernard’s, same roof ledge and everything. The only difference was that it faced the backyard, right in front of the pool.
The tile is rough against his feet and he sways as he steps out on it. It looks so far down. Is it?
He stands at the edge.
The pool is prettier than the water at the marina. The lights shine a light glassy blue and Bernard wants to drink it.
No, that would be bad for him. Would it?
He thinks he’s done this before.
He knows he’s done this before.
Maybe there were more people, more lights, more sound.
He was there too. He was always there when Bernard felt like this.
Step back, step forward.
Step back, step forward.
Step back, step forward.
Step back, step forward
Step back, step forward.
Step back, step forward.
Jump.
The wind pushes his hair back and then he can’t breathe.
There is a muffled boom , and suddenly he can feel every little bubble roll over his skin.
The water is cold.
Bernard can’t see anything, just the pretty blurry blue, and he lets out all the air he can feel in his lungs. He sinks and closes his eyes when his back hits the bottom.
He can’t push Bernard in again if he stays. He can’t make him hate pools if he is the pool.
That’s a stupid thought, you can’t be a pool, and Bernard still kinda hates himself so really it made no difference.
His chest starts to burn.
Bernard hates pools, why is he in one?
There’s a second muffled boom above him and Bernard opens his eyes. Someone is swimming down to him. Bernard hopes it’s not him again, he doesn’t feel like getting held down again at the moment.
They don’t hold him down. They pull him up to the surface and Bernard realizes how much he needs oxygen.
He’s gasping now, the water becoming too much and sending him into a spiral.
They drag him to the edge and haul him up onto the ground.
Bernard’s hair and clothes are sopping wet, clinging to him and making his skin crawl. He coughs when he gasps too sharply. A hand rubs up and down his back.
“What the hell Bernard. Were you trying to drown yourself!?” Tim yells. Bernard flinches.
“I don’t know,” Bernard mumbles, “I don’t like swimming pools.”
Tim frowns.
“What do you mean you don’t like… are you ok? Look, I'm sorry. I didn’t mean to be an asshole, I was just caught off guard. I'm still putting everything together and I... didn’t want a mess. I’m not cheating on you I promise,” he says.
Bernard scrunches his nose and swings his head toward Tim.
“Didn’t seem that way,” he slurs. It’s Tim’s turn to wrinkle his nose.
“How much did you drink? Your breath reeks,” he says.
“I drink anymore, don’t like alcohol. I can’t… remember.”
Tim’s face twists, guilt and confusion mashing together to leave a bitter taste in his mouth.
“I’m sorry.”
Tim picks him up and brings him back inside, one arm slung over his shoulder as he tries to keep him steady. He drops Bernard off in his room, pulling wet clothes off of him and leaving to go find the wine he downed.
Tim picks up the bottle on the roof edge and winces when he sees it’s been completely drained.
He tosses it and sleeps on the couch.