Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Where the hell is he?" Frylock muttered. Shake was out late again. Frylock didn't know why he cared so much, it wasn't like Shake had a curfew. With how irresponsible he was with his time, he might as well have one.

"Meatwad, did Shake tell you where he went off to?"

"Somethin' about goin' on a walk," Meatwad said with his eyes still glued to the TV screen. "I dunno and I don't care. When he's gone, I get his chair."

Yeah, right. A walk. Of all the things he could use as an alibi, he says he's going on a walk. He was probably getting shitfaced at a bar.

"I'm gonna go look for him."

"Why can't you jus' let him...'dome' the streets, Frylock? He's a grown man."

"It's roam."

"Huh?"

"You said 'dome the streets', it's 'roam the streets'."

"Well not all of us are perfect!" Meatwad turned around and crossed his arms. Frylock rolled his eyes and walked out of their cup-shaped door.

Upon approaching the downtown bar, dimly lit with nothing but a faulty neon sign, Frylock noticed Shake fighting with someone standing in the doorway.

"Look buddy," Shake belched. "I know the owner of this bar. I can get you fired."

"Get out of here, ya' douche. You haven't even had four drinks and you're picking fights with other customers."

"Woah, woah what did you just call me?"

"A douche!"

"Oh, so THAT'S how you wanna play it?!"

Before Shake could wobble further toward the unidentified man, Frylock intervened by holding Shake in one spot and putting his fists down on his sides.

"Frylock," he slurred. "Just the guy I wanted to see. Shoot this fag with your eye-laser thingies, won'tcha?"

"I am so sorry, sir. My uh. roommate has some sort of alcohol intolerance, he's completely hammered after one sip."

"Hey that's not-" Frylock put his hand over Shake's mouth to keep him from acting like a total fool.

"I don't want him near my property from now on," the man in the entryway scolded. "I own this bar and I'm not afraid to file a restraining order."

"We don't need to get the authorities involved now, do we?" Frylock gulped.

"Your little buddy here still owes me $75. He never paid off his tab for those four Bellinis."

"Four Bellinis- Jesus Christ, Shake!"

Knowing the trouble both he and Shake would be in for and judging by the scowl on the bar owner's face, he pulled out his wallet and obliged. With that, the bar door was abruptly shut on them.

Frylock brought his hands up to his temples and rubbed them out of stress. He was $75 down in his wallet and had no form of transportation to drag Shake back home in, since he had walked the full 50 minutes to the bar earlier.

"What is your problem, Shake?! Why do you have to make everything so difficult," Frylock felt like strangling him. It was normal for Shake to do dumb shit like this, but something about the climax of it all made Frylock especially pissed.

"Day in and day out you fuck around and I'M usually the one to clean up after your act."

"Frylock..." Shake mumbled under his breath.

"Are you even listening to me? I don't even know why I bother, because you're such a PIECE OF WORK!"

Shake was barely comprehending anything Frylock was trying to say. He was so drunk, it was like talking to to a brick wall.

"Godamnit, Shake." Frylock nearly broke down crying, holding Shake's shoulders and pressing harder with each word.

Just then, Carl in his beloved 2 Wyked hot rod pulled up by the curb where they were squabbling.

"Hey girls. I got some booze in the back there if yous twos wanna head back to my place for some action."

"Carl?" Frylock turned around.

"Oh. It's you freaks. I thought yous was prostitutes for a minute there. God, I gotta get my eyes checked," Carl grimaced, obviously disturbed at the fact that he thought Shake and Frylock were hookers. "Bye, ya' fairies."

"Wait! Could you please drive us back to the house?" Frylock stopped him before he could hit the pedal.

"You're kidding. Funny joke, Fryman."

"Please, Carl! Shake's drunk as hell and we both walked on our ways here!"

"Shake's drunk, huh? That uh. Definitely makes me wanna risk having my seats deep cleaned of puke again." he jabbed sarcastically.

"I'll pay you."

"...how much?"

Frylock scurried through his wallet in hopes to find any kind of bill. He settled on a twenty and a five, the last of what he had in his wallet anyways.

"Five bucks."

"What kind of schmuck do you think I am? I see that twenty, I want both."

"Fine." Frylock reluctantly handed him the two bills through the driver's window.

"First rule," Carl started to go down a list as the two climbed in the back. "Don't talk to me. Second rule, don't touch my booze."

Didn't need to tell them twice about booze. Booze was the entire reason they had found themselves in this predicament.

"Third rule, don't puke all over my seats again." He felt the need to really dig in this point as much as possible, for it wasn't the first time Shake had gotten black-out drunk and vomited somewhere in 2 Wyked.

As soon as Carl accelerated, Frylock felt a wave of relief over his body. He may have been $100 short, but he was just content that they were on their way back home. Out of nowhere, Shake started to bawl his eyes out. It was most likely the intoxication making him act out again.

"Fourth rule, no crying like a pussy."

Frylock was already so done with everything that Shake's crying didn't phase him in the slightest. Luckily, they were just about to pull up to their house, in which Frylock moved out over Shake and dragged him out.

"Thank you, Carl."

"Yeah, whatever."

Dragging Shake across their lawn was no easy task, considering just how heavy and non-compliant he was. After some time and persistence from Frylock, they made it inside. The lights were off, but the TV still illuminated some of the living room. Meatwad was conked out on their yellow recliner, so there was no chance Shake would be sleeping there. Frylock figured he could put him on Meatwad's bed for the time being.

"Frylock," Shake sobbed. "I gotta hurl."

At least he didn't do it in the car.

"Then get your ass up and do it in the toilet bowl."

Shake suddenly sprung up as if he wasn't being dragged across the grass by his roommate just a few minutes prior and threw his guts up. It was almost funny, how intolerant Shake was to alchohol. It reflected his intolerance for everything else he came across in his life. Frylock peeked in through the doorframe for good measure.

"Hold my hair." Shake pulled off his pink beanie, revealing his frizzy, unwashed, brunet pseudo-mullet underneath.

There wasn't much to hold aside from the small tuft on the back of his neck, but Frylock did what he could.

Frylock was shocked at just how much Shake was throwing up. Even for someone as intolerant to booze as he was, it didn't make any sense. Just as he was about to let go, Shake started to ramble on about some woman he met in the bar.

"We were meant to be and she had a boyfriend I didn't even know about!"

"Shake, you just met the girl," Frylock tried to console him. "If she had a boyfriend, it obviously wasn't meant to be."

"You don't know that! You ever watched 'Fidelity'?"

"That mediocre Russian film about a woman who cheats on her neglecting husband? Yeah. You watch it all the time. Movies aren't reality, Shake."

"That's easy for you to say, you're a sexy lady's man. How am I supposed to believe that you're not living that movie as we speak?!"

Ignoring Shake's bullshit conspiracy theories, Frylock's head perked up.

"You think I'm sexy?"

"If I were a chick, you'd be my first choice. No joke." Shake leaned over the toilet bowl again to spit out the residue in his mouth.

Frylock was taken aback by Shake's confession: that he thought Frylock was desirable at all. Not only did it express how Shake subconsciously wanted Frylock, but it revealed his jealousy for Frylock he never wanted to admit.

Shake groaned and flushed his retch down. He looked so exhausted, Frylock felt bad for him. Despite going through what he did earlier trying to get Shake in decent condition, he felt bad for just how miserable Shake was. It could've been just a thing in the moment, with how the fluorescent light in their bathroom accentuated his homeliness, but Frylock never realized just how fucked up Shake is. There's quite literally no point in trying to fix him. So why did Frylock try? Why was Frylock so insistent on reforming Shake? He was essentially a lost cause.

The two looked at eachother for some time. Neither of them were sure on what to do next.

So Frylock did the only thing he felt he could do. He leaned in towards Shake and wrapped his arms around his back and ran his hand slowly across the fabric of his hoodie. He didn't know what else he could do. It was all he felt like he could offer Shake.

Shake didn't hug back as wholeheartedly as Frylock did. His hands were barely grounded on Frylock's back and his head was in an awkward position in between Frylock's shoulder and his chest.

It was a long hug. Five minutes, to be specific. Both of them enjoyed being embraced like that, even if Shake was drunk out of his mind. If anything, it made him think less about the homoromanticness of it.

After pulling away from the hug, Frylock got up from the tiled bathroom floor he was kneeling on and walked out to their kitchen to grab Shake a cup of water to rehydrate himself. It was the nice thing to do, as he did just puke enough to reach the rim of the toilet seat.

Shake was already knocked out when Frylock came back in. His head was flat on the bath mat, with his limbs sprawled out over the rest of the tile. It was this moment when Frylock was starting to realize that stationing Shake in his room would be easier than putting him in Meatwad's room.

That would first be because of Meatwad not having a real bed in his room. Meatwad didn't have much of a problem sleeping on it, but he knew Shake would. Even if he was fast asleep now, he was bound to cause a ruckus in the morning. Hungover Shake is not a Shake you want to meddle with. Besides, Shake's slept in his bed before.

Once more, Frylock heaved Shake up. This time up to his chest, bridal style. It was more difficult this way, but it was graceful enough not to wake the man. He swung open the door with his foot and laid Shake down on his bedsheets.

He stood there, staring, until he finally crawled into bed with him. He was fully clothed, but so was Shake. They were both beyond tired that they didn't care about what they were wearing.

Frylock didn't have to do all this. Shake was annoying. He didn't like Shake. He knew Shake would never change, but he didn't know why he tried. He didn't know why he put up with what he did. He didn't know why he cared.

Chapter Text

Shake was confused to find himself under Frylock's blue, space-patterned bedsheets that morning. Even though there were no artificial lights on in the room, the morning sun seeping through the windows felt blinding. Every time he would close his eyes, he could still feel the sun touching every nook of his body. Thus, it was time to begrudgingly get up for the day. It took him a minute for him to adjust himself, in which he was met with a horrible headache. Not off to a great start.

Frylock was up and in his chair, doing some work on his computer when he noticed Shake in his peripheral vision.

"Morning."

"What time is it...? How long was I asleep for?" Shake winced at the sudden twinge of pain in his head.

"It's a quarter past noon."

"A what past what now?" Shake's quite snarky way of telling Frylock he couldn't process what he said.

"12:25 PM."

"Early enough, I'm goin' back to bed."

"Oh no you don't," Frylock redirected Shake towards the door before he could get comfortable on on his bed and led him out to their kitchen. "You're hungover and you need liquids. HEALTHY liquids."

"Okay 'Doctor Frylock'," Shake poked sarcastically. "I don't need you telling me what to do."

"Fine. Don't take my advice. Live with your headache." Frylock trudged out of their kitchen as his shoulder brushed against Shake's.

Past the fluffy, mahogany afro just barely reaching his waist, he slammed the door to his room.

"What's wrong with Frylock," Meatwad asked innocently. "He looks all grumpy."

"Probably on his period."

The younger boy rummaged through their pantry, but was upsettingly greeted with nothing but a pack of canned lentils and an off-brand bag of plain potato chips that was most likely stale.

"Man, we don't got anything in here! Can we go shoppin'?"

"You got plenty to eat in here." Shake pulled out the bag of chips and popped one in his mouth, which he chewed slowly and uncomfortably.

"Frylock!" Meatwad skipped across the hallway into Frylock's room. As soon as Shake was sure he was gone, he spit out the chewed-up chip before he could swallow.

Before he knew it, Frylock was dragged back into the kitchen as Meatwad practically forced him to analyze their barren shelves.

"Hm. Maybe we should drop by the store again, just for a few necessities." He scowled at the bag of chips he held with the tips of his fingers and dropped it in the trash.

"Count me out. I don't wanna miss my show."

"Oh yeah? What's on?"

"Oh, y'know...Wheel of Fortune." Shake twiddled his thumbs.

"You've never watched an episode of Wheel of Fortune in your life."

"Quit trying to dictate my life, 'Frydolf'. What is this, Germany 1942?"

"Not like I want you to stick around me any longer. Fine by me if you wanna sit on your ass all day."

"Can we go shoppin' already-"

"CAN IT, MEATWAD!" They yelled in unison.

Tears started to form in the boy's gleamy eyes before Frylock had time to realize that he may have used the wrong tone with him.

"I'm sorry, Meatwad," Frylock crouched down to his level. "I'm just a little angry right now."

"I'm not sorry. You'd best know your place, ya' little twerp."

"C'mon. Let's go to the store."

Shake rolled his eyes and perched on the arm of the sofa. As soon as he was sure his roommates were gone and off of the lawn, he leaped to the kitchen and pulled a six-pack of unlabeled beers from out of the cabinet. He had stole them from Carl's mini-fridge a few days prior.

They were now warm from being unrefridgerated in the cabinet for some time, but Shake didn't care. He had to get his fix. All he wanted was to get as drunk as a fish. Despite his horrible intolerance, his body was growing dependent on it. He thought he could only ever feel that rich wave of euphoria if he was drunk and wobbly. Screw the hangover he was experiencing literally at the same time he decided he wanted to gorge himself.

He popped open the bottle cap of his first drink and chugged it. He could already feel the rush the alchohol was granting him. His vision quickly turned hazy and impaired, leading him to collapse down on the floor. He didn't stop at one: he kept reaching for a new bottle every time he tossed away an empty one, until there was nothing left in the cardboard carrier.

Hadn't even been an hour since Frylock and Meatwad left and Shake was hiccuping on the floor, feeling more nausea than euphoria.

Just as he was beginning to regret his decision to drink during the middle of the day, on an empty stomach, he began to sweat excessively. He sloppily pulled off his beanie and sweater before running a hand through his hair, moistened by the pools and pools of sweat. He felt like hurling right there. Only he struggled to force anything out this time around. So he fell flat on his side and went out cold.

Shake couldn't tell what time it was when he woke up. The lighting was too ambiguous and there wasn't a clock in sight. Averting his glance to a very blurry Frylock sitting in the corner of the living room, it had occurred to Shake that he was no longer a sick mess on the kitchen tile, but a sick mess on the recliner instead. Frylock must've moved him.

"Finally awake, huh? Couldn't resist getting shitfaced again?"

"..."

"You're pathetic."

"..."

He could make out bits and pieces of what was happening around him, but it was far too uneven. The TV was on in front of him, blaring various obnoxious and incoherent game show sound effects that overpowered Frylock's voice.

"You probably aren't even paying attention to me," Frylock crossed his arms. "And you know what? I'm done with you. I'm done trying for you."

Shake wanted to reach his arms out to him to beckon him not to leave him in front of the deafening TV, but he was stiff.

"I hate you, Master Shake."

It didn't feel like a playful jab this time. It stabbed him deep and it stung. He felt his heart beat through his throat as Frylock disappeared into the hallway. He wanted to scream for help. But he couldn't. He was powerless.

( "Shake," )

He needed someone.

( "Wake up," )

Anyone.

( "Shake, get up," )

No. He needed Frylock.

"Shake, get the hell up!" Frylock shook him up.

"Huh- whuh...?" Shake held his head in a daze, waking up in the same couch he was just lifeless in.

"I told you not to fall back asleep. Whatever," Frylock sighed. "We're back from the store."

"FRYLOCK! Frylock, I-I didn't drink anything today, did I?!" He violently gripped Frylock's shoulders.

"Not that I know of," He raised an eyebrow. "Why, did you drink while we were gone?"

"Thank God, no!" Shake tightly bear hugged Frylock, catching him off-guard because of how genuine it felt. "Never leave me like that again!"

"I was only gone for 45 minutes." Frylock chuckled as he ran his fingers through Shake's frizzy hair.

Although he was still hungover, his vivid daymare was enough to compel him to grab the untouched six-pack of beer and throw it all out in the bin out on their curb. He never wanted to go through that again. If it meant throwing out booze, then so be it.

Upon returning back inside, he glanced at the recliner. The TV was off, thank goodness. Before he made himself comfortable again, he went back into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water. His throat cleared up and he was much more replenished after downing it. Wiping the sweat off his forehead, he sat himself down on his rightful spot on the old, yellow armchair. He may have been hungover, but he wasn't drunk. Anything was better than being drunk.