Chapter Text
He'd been sitting on the couch, idly staring at his darkened phone screen, for hours, maybe, pondering exactly how much he'd drunk that night.
According to Travis, he'd only had "like a couple shots, man."
But then why does he find himself sitting on their couch, huddled into the tightest corner, hoodie shoved on and hands shaking in his lap?
He's beginning to regret putting a hoodie on. He'd been cold ealier- freezing, actually- but now it feels like he's sitting in an asphalt parking lot in the the middle of a summer day. Everything feels wavy with heat, and he can't figure out why.
(He thinks it might have something to do with the sudden burst of sickening nausea he'd suffered through the night before, but he's not thinking about that right now. . .
What? There's no way- it was way too obscure to even consider, okay?)
At one point, he can feel Noah's eyes boring into him, like he's being studied, eyes narrowed and brow furrowed as he glances over at Ted, water bottle and a rather large section of (potentially) regular nerds rope in hand.
Ted shudders a little at the sight of that cursed candy, unwillingly recalling the last time he'd eaten one of those.
Ah. The nausea; it's back.
He swallows hard, ignoring it with a silent growl.
His hands are shaking harder, now, and Noah is talking (to him? He honestly can't tell). He can't hear what he's saying, even though their music was turned down and it was late and his lips were moving and he was right there.
. . . Maybe he was high?
He shuddered, clasping his hands together tightly.
"Ted?"
He raises his eyes, searching for Charlie, something in him vaguely relieved that he wasn't going deaf.
"Hey, man, you okay?"
It's Charlie again. . . Charlie still?
Whatever, he doesn't care. Where-
He feels the couch dip in front of him, his knees jutting out over the edge of the dip. He's sitting on his legs, he realises with a start; they're tingling, threatening to fall asleep.
He mutters out a curse, too distracted with trying to make sure his legs don't fall off to notice Charlie sitting in front of him on couch, eyes narrowed and gleaming in concern.
He almost kicks Charlie in the balls, actually, and can't help but giggle a little after the intial yelp of surprise.
He recovers quickly and stretches his legs in front of him, sighing a little when the muscles sing in relief.
He sees Charlie grin at him a little, but it doesn't reach his eyes.
So he turns and hides his face in the back of the couch, still sitting longways and huffing out a long breath.
What? It's comfy and he'd tired. Sue him.
Not actually, though; he's still broke.
"Ted?" Charlie says again, quietly this time, like Ted is four years old and Charlie's trying to get him to let go of some obscure comfort toy.
Ted just exhales, feeling like a little kid when the only response he can scrape together is a small, "Mmm."
"You, feelin' okay, buddy? Trav said you only had a couple hits earlier. Somethin' else bothering you?"
He shrugs, shoulders moving jerkily and making him abruptly aware of the headache building in the base of his skull, and the aching pain in his joints, specifically the muscles wedged right beneath his shoulder blades.
God, everything hurt.
"Okay," Charlie said slowly, sounding very much like it wasn't. He turned a little, away from Ted, who had to swallow down a whine rising in his throat.
Was Charlie going to leave? He didn't want Charlie to leave.
As childish as it felt, his hugs felt nice. He really wanted one right one.
"Schlatt," Charlie called off to the side, where Ted thinks the rest of the front room must be.
He sees one of his best friend's heads pop into view from the crest of one of the armchairs, like he'd slumped all the way down on it.
The sight makes him giggle again, earning him another concerned glance from Charlie when it forces a string of dry coughs out of him.
"Can you get-? Yeah, I think. . . " Ted tunes the rest out, suddenly all-too aware of the way his chest tightens, the way his hands shake, even clasped tightly in his lap, the way the hoodie sleeves are beginning to burn against his wrists-
"Teddy?" Charlie says softly, and Ted grins a little at the new-old nickname. He'd never had a fond nickname before Lunch Club. It's so endearing, he thinks.
He hums again in response, breathing in slowly before letting it out again in a strange rush of air.
He almost can't breathe. Why does he feel so anxious? It feels like his skin is crawling.
He needs someone to press it back into him, to hold (him) it all together.
He feels a hand press fully against one arm, and he jolts away on instinct, not used to being touched, even just casually.
A hot line of something like electricity shoots up the length of his arm and balances there haphazardly, waiting eagerly for a follow-up.
"Sorry," he hears Charlie whisper, instantly drawing back, and this time Ted can't suppress the whine that escapes his throat. He lets out another exhale, almost pouting, hearing Noah chuckle somewhere off to the side.
"He wants a hug, Charlie," he calls over, reassuring. "I think he's just a little touch-starved." He sounds upset, like he's disappointed in himself, and now Ted feels guitly.
It wasn't Noah's fault. Ted just. . . hadn't asked.
Admittedly, he'd been too scared (it wasn't something guys did), even though he knew that was a mindset from at least three lifetimes ago.
He'd changed so much since then, but still his courage was so lacking.
"D'you want a hug, Teddy?" Charlie asks quietly, carefully balancing on the edge of the couch, so delibrate in making Ted feel safe and in control, and he feels his eyes sting in recognition of it.
Charlie was so kind, too kind.
Ted nodded quickly, shaky, tears escaping at last and slipping down his cheeks as the couch dipped and shifted under them.
Then suddenly Charlie's arms are around him, tight and secure, and Ted can't help but sigh and shudder in relief. He lets out a soft sob, burying his face in the crook of Charlie's neck.
Charlie's hood was soft against his cheek, and kept his breath from blowing onto Charlie's neck (something he's a little bit grateful for).
He closes his eyes and tries to breathe, slowly and deeply, exhausted and in pain. More tears slip down his cheeks, just a slow release of emotions that he's needed for while.
They're still like that when Schlatt comes back, looking more genuinely concerned that Ted's ever seen him.
He breathes out a little "oh" when he sees them, but hands the thermometer to Charlie, who nudges Ted to slip it under his tongue.
He isn't sure how long he keeps it there, eyes fluttering and head falling even more and more lax until Charlie's taking the device out and showing it to Schlatt, Noah, and Travis. They all wince, glancing worriedly down at Ted.
He has no idea what they're so worried about. He feels absolutely awful, but can't for the life of him figure out how his best friends would know that.
He hears Charlie's worried tone, talking to their friends, and feels himself drift off for a moment, exhuasted. But then he's jolting back awake again, gasping and gripping shakily at the fabric of Charlie's hoodie.
He can feel himself trembling, his heart racing and pounding against his ribcage. He's shaking hard as Charlie runs a hand up and down his spine, tracing the length of it. The touch is firm but kind, pressing gently against each knob in his spine, just enough to ground him.
He's able to settle, but he doesn't even remember what he was so frightened about. He vaguely recalls something about how the body jerks randomly as some kind of weird survival instinct, but he's drifting off again before he can think anymore on it.
When he wakes again there's vomit clinging to the back of his throat and he's breathing hard as Charlie prompts him to drink a little bit of water. A used bucket is sitting in his lap.
His heart jumps into his throat when he tastes vomit coating his tongue and realises with a painful hitch of his breath that he's already thrown up and he can't even remember it.
How the hell had he thrown up without even being conscious? Or at least aware even to remember it?!
He gasps out a trembling breath, feeling his whole frame shake and shudder as a wave of anxiety floods over him, giving him the feeling of a drowning man.
Charlie presses into Ted's spine like he'd done before, and he's able to calm enough again to take several sips of water, hot tears still slipping down his flushed cheeks.
It's only moments before he's drifting off again, face pressed into Charlie's warm shoulder.
He was in for the long haul, it seemed.