Work Text:
The one thing that was never mentioned about recovery, was the withdrawals. Maybe Lister just hadn't listened.
The burning sensation that spread through his body. The feeling that nothing would ever be okay again until he was half a bottle in and could barely stand. The way his entire body would tense for hours and he wouldn't know if he was hungry or if he was thirsty until he was sick from neglecting those needs.
It's cold on the bathroom floor, or at least he thinks it is. His arms are covered in goosebumps but his shirt is drenched in sweat and tears.
He can't do this.
The back of his throat was burning and he couldn't tell if he'd been yelling or not. Jimmy and Rowan didn't deserve this. He should be better now. The cast had been off for weeks now.
Why wasn't he better?
He's sick. Rotten to the core. Unpure. Dirty. God it's no wonder why Jimmy wouldn't love him back.
Tears built up and he blinked them away. It was pathetic wasn't it? Being reduced to this? All over a fucking drink.
Lister ran a shaky hand through his hair, once again choking on a sob. His hand tightens into fists and he tugs at it, hardly caring about the pain it brought. He deserved this. He deserved the pain.
He should've just died in that river.
No. It's fucked to question your mortality at nineteen.
There's a knock at the door and before he has time to compose himself enough to answer, it swings open and reveals Rowan.
For a moment they just stare at each other. It's hard to miss the smell of vomit and the redness of Lister's eyes. Though there's no underlying alcohol stench. For that Rowan's grateful.
"Are you-"
"Piss off Rowan."
Rowan's lips press into that ever familiar line, he's clearly pissed, or upset, or whatever. Lister doesn't care.
"Allister, you said you'd talk to us when this happened."
"I don't want to fucking talk about this Rowan."
"Right. Okay then." He offers a hand out to Lister. "Come on."
Lister glares at him, before reluctantly taking it, pulling himself up. Rowan's still that little bit taller than him. That feels suffocating right now.
"Why are you doing this?" He asks as they leave the bathroom.
"Because I care about you."
"You shouldn't."
Lister's trying to push him away. He doesn't feel like he's worth the comfort. He's been like this since they met.
"Sit." Rowan says, pushing him gently down onto the sofa at the end of his bed. "I'm getting Jimmy to sit with you and I'm going to clean the bathroom."
"Why won't you leave me alone."
"So you can sneak out and go buy a bottle of vodka?"
Lister's cheeks go bright red from shame, maybe embarrassment. "I hate you."
"You don't mean that."
Lister just glares at him. Rowan watches him for a moment before turning his back on him and clearing his throat. "Jimmy! Come here!"
"What?" Jimmy's voice calls back, he sounds annoyed. He always sounds annoyed.
"Just come here!"
"Fine."
When he reaches the room and catches sight of Lister, Jimmy's expression morphs from annoyance to concern. It makes Lister want to throw up again.
His gaze flicks over to Rowan and they have a conversation with their eyes. Like always. Jimmy nods before he sits next to Lister on the sofa.
"Hi." His voice is softer than normal. He hates this. He hates being treated like he's going to shatter.
"You don't have to do this Jimmy."
Rowan leaves the room.
"What? Look after you?"
"That's exactly my point! Nobody gives a single shit about what I want! I want to be left alone."
"I'm not leaving you."
"You sound like Ro."
"What because I care about you?"
Lister says nothing again. Jimmy does nothing to fill the silence. He always was more of a listener than someone to talk and open up.
"I hate this." He says eventually. "I hate this so fucking much."
"Recovering? I don't-"
"God even that fucking word." He sees Jimmy flinch slightly at his tone and he instantly feels remorseful. "Sorry."
Jimmy nods. Clearly not going to say anything more.
"I just- Nobody said it'd be this hard."
"Nobody said it'd be easy."
"Do not quote fucking Coldplay at me right now."
"I wasn't! I didn't even-"
"Whatever, forget it, I was joking."
The two fall into a silence, though it doesn’t feel tense.
“When does it get easier?” Lister asks after a moment.
“I don’t think I’m the one who can answer that.”
Lister stares at him for a moment. Jimmy matches the stare almost quizzingly.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Yeah of course.”
Jimmy's voice is soft. Welcoming.
“Back when we were kids- younger I mean, why did you-” Lister trails off, seemingly forgetting what he was going to say.
“I've been throwing up.” He admits almost shamefully.
Jimmy doesn't speak. Lister takes that as a signal to continue.
“It's- my therapist said it was a coping mechanism, that if I can't drink, or do anything else, that this is what's going to happen.”
“And it helps?”
“God no.” Lister laughs.
“Doesn't sound like a good therapist.” Jimmy jokes. His tone is flat. Maybe he actually thinks it.
“Don't, I'm already trying to find a reason not to go.”
“Rowan's dragging you there first thing tomorrow, hope you know that.”
“Yeah. I know.”
A comfortable silence falls over them, and Lister swears he sees Jimmy shift closer.
“I- I don't not care about you.”
Their shoulders are touching.
“Like- I really care about you Lister, and I hope you know that.”
Lister feels something in his throat catch, and he clears it in a way he hopes is subtle. It isn't.
“I skipped meals because I thought it'd somehow fix my anxiety.”
Lister really tries not to laugh. But a smile creeps onto his lips anyway.
“Oh fuck off.” Jimmy shoves him slightly. “I was 16, you think I knew that it wouldn't?”
There's a comfort in it. Knowing that both of them have fucked up relationships with food. That they can talk to each other about it. And they hadn't even mentioned Rowan. Being obsessed with his protein intake was a whole other thing. Disordered even.
“I love you.”
The words catch even Lister off guard, and they'd come out of his own mouth.
“Oh- I love you too.”
Lister knows he doesn't mean it in the same way.
“Bathroom is all clear!” Rowan announces, walking in with a roll of paper towels in hand, far too optimistic for this hour.
He sets them down on his desk, before staring and saying something about ‘needing them to be where he'd remember’.
“We gonna talk about how fucked up Rowan is yet?”
“Ha. Save it for the morning.”
Maybe things weren't good for them right now, but they'd get there.
The three of them.
Together.