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“Great communication, Pissface. Picking up after eight missed calls. Where the hell are you? I’m outside your apartment,”
“Not there,” Jonny’s tinny voice replied from the phone. Adam really needed a new one - the audio quality was atrocious - but even through that he could tell something was off with his brother.
“What do you mean ‘not there’? I’m supposed to be picking you up, remember?”
“Well. I’m not there,” Jonny had a very specific tone in his voice that made him sound like a grumpy baby. All of a sudden, Adam realised exactly what it was.
“You’re drunk, aren’t you?” Adam asked incredulously. He took the lack of response he received as a clear yes “Right. I don’t care, I’m picking you up anyway. You can just explain it to mum and dad. Where are you?”
“Piss off,” There was a distinct sulking tone in the metallic voice.
“Not a chance. Where are you?”
“Pub,”
“Going to need a bit more than that considering there’s about three thousand of those in London,”
With some more prompting, Jonny finally came out with something resembling a street name, and Adam hung up to begin a thoroughly irritated drive to collect him. If the idiot wanted to get tipsy right before Friday night dinner he should at least have to embarrass himself in front of the family. While Adam watched the whole debacle. Obviously.
When he finally managed to locate the bar - a weird and seedy place, not far from Jonny’s shitty little brick-print office building - Jonny himself was even worse for wear than expected. Half his shirt buttons were undone, and he was less standing by the wall and more leaning against it.
“You alright?” Adam asked as he approached, eyebrows raised so much he was sure they’d surpass his hairline.
Jonny responded with an ambiguous kind of gesture that really could’ve meant anything. It was hard to tell if he was past speaking or if he just didn’t know the answer. Adam tried his best to herd him into the car, but, quickly realising it was a lost cause, he propped him back up against the wall.
“Jonny, look at the state of you. It’s a Friday night. You do know mum will go mental?”
“‘S fine,”
“You’re pissed. You’re fully, completely, freshers week plastered and its what? Seven in the evening? Crazy day upselling houses, was it?”
Jonny didn’t reply for a minute, staring uncomprehendingly, until suddenly and without warning he burst into tears.
“Oh,” Adam said, frozen in place. He hadn’t seen Jonny cry in about half a decade. He’d never been very good with people’s feelings, especially those of his brother. Jonny was a complete crybaby even into his teenage years, and Adam’s usual strategy was to prod him until he stopped. That or leave it to Mum to sort out. Neither plan of action seemed helpful here.
“Oh, God. Um. Come here,” Adam tried at reassurance, pulling him downward into something resembling a hug. It was a little awkward on Adam’s end - their physical contact limited mostly to roughhousing and mock affection for as long as he could remember - but he did his best.
Jonny didn’t seem bothered enough to stop the action, if anything he cried harder, creating a growing wet patch on Adam’s shoulder. Great. That would be a normal thing to explain to Mum later, if they even managed to get there. He thought longingly about dinner. He was pretty sure they were having lamb tonight, too. Curse Jonny and his drinking choices.
Speaking of, after a little more time passed he seemed to be calming down. Or at least, he stopped bawling his eyes out. It was even more awkward then. Adam politely averted his eyes while Jonny got himself together, as if he was even sober enough to notice either way.
He had the urge to call him a big gay baby or something, but somehow it didn't feel right. He knew for certain Jonny wouldn’t grant him the same if roles were reversed, but still. He wasn't used to his brother being anything less than constantly lighthearted, often to an irritating degree. He was annoyingly difficult to upset, even when alcohol was in the equation.
“What’s going on then?”
“Nothing’s going on,” Jonny groaned. The power of speech had clearly returned to him somewhat.
“Oh, sure, yes. Nothing apart from you getting so hammered you cried on my shirt in the middle of a road. Of course,”
“Shouldn’t have worn such a hideous shirt then,” Jonny sulked, noticeably sobered “I lost my job,”
“Oh.” Whatever he’d expected, it wasn’t that. “I’m sorry,”
“It okay. You were right. I was pretty shit at it anyway,”
“Yeah, well. Still.” Adam shrugged “I guess thats reason enough to be shitfaced in the mid evening,”
“Mid evening on a Friday. Wonderfully Jewish of me,”
“Very. Doing the family proud,” Adam snarked “Pissface?”
Jonny’s grin had vanished from his face with alarming speed. He stared at the ground, mouth a tight line.
“Jonny?” Adam prompted him again, increasingly concerned. Unfortunately, he’d forgotten one of the primary things drunk people were known to do next to blacking out and crying. He was unpleasantly reminded when he found it spewed across his shoes.
“‘M sorry,” Jonny gasped, voice nasally from the action, then promptly threw up again.
“You bastard!" Adam screeched. The temporary stop that his brother's sorry state had put on their sibling rivalry had officially concluded. He was back to being annoyed. He thought longingly of the lamb he could be eating right now if he’d just hung up and told Mum that Jonny was too busy getting wasted to come and join them.
“Said I was sorry,” Jonny managed, before keeling over for round three. More prepared, Adam took his feet out of the firing line, and with great loathing, held his brother’s stupid, overlong fringe out of it too.
"I think it's all out now," Jonny said at last, stumbling back to a vaguely upright position.
"Yeah. Well. I'm still not having you in my car. You can just live in this weird alleyway for all I care,"
“It wasn’t exactly fun for me either,” Jonny replied. Grumpy baby voice was back.
“Look at my shoes!” Adam squawked, realising mid-sentence it was a lost cause to try and reason with him “Whatever. I give up. Just, God, let’s go,”
Halfway to the car Adam whirled around again, prodding his brother in the chest “And no being sick in my car!”
Jonny threw his hands up in mock surrender, heading around and flopping bonelessly into the passenger side.
After great deliberation (i.e. thinking longingly of lamb and crimble crumble until rational thought took over), Adam ended up driving him home, making up an excuse for Mum about a sudden onset stomach flu. He was probably too gratuitous with the imagined details, as she hung up on him midway through and texted to say she’d check in tomorrow instead.
Tomorrow came quite slowly for Adam, who had, out of pity, allowed Jonny to take the one bed in his apartment, taking the sofa instead once he was certain his carpet wouldn’t get vomited or wept on. When he felt rested enough to deal with Jonny again, he headed to wake him up.
Predictably, he looked like death. Like he’d marathoned about six Christmas Eves.
“Oh God. Thank you,” Jonny said hoarsely, eyeing the steaming mug of tea in Adam’s hand.
“What?” Adam realised what he was staring at “Oh. No, this is mine. I’ve done my part now,”
“Brilliant,”
“How are you?”
“It’s like ten in the morning. Don’t try and ask me about my feelings,” Jonny covered his face with his hands.
Adam shuddered “God, no, I meant the hangover. I dealt with enough of those last night,”
Jonny’s eyes shot open “What happened? I didn’t do anything terrible and embarrassing did I?”
Adam cracked a smile “I suppose you’ll find out next time you annoy me,”
“Great to know,” Jonny groaned. Stirring a bit, he opened his phone and started scrolling through for a while, before commenting “Probably for the best you picked me up. Looks like I tried to book a tattoo appointment?”
Adam laughed “Shame. I wish I’d left you to it, now,”