Chapter Text
"Are ye nearly done in there, love?"
"Yeh, yeh, give me a minute Paul."
I grip the toilet as another wave of nausea rolls over to me and I sick my guts up into the bowl. I groan and wipe a hand down my clammy face. "Paul?" I call out. "Come help yer poor boyfriend out will ye?"
The door opens immediately. Of course it does, overprotective idiot.
He crouches down next to me, all big worried eyes and floppy dark hair, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He looks annoyingly good for a bloke who's been up for half the night looking after my drunk arse.
"There y'are." he says softly.
"Here I am." I mumble with a half hearted flourish of my hands.
"Christ, Ritch, ye really don't know when to stop throwing booze down yer neck, do ye?"
"I know, I know."
"Nah, I don't think ye do. Ye do this every night, Ritch."
I laugh, which is a mistake. It turns into a cough and another miserable heave over the toilet. Paul rubs circles into my back whilst I suffer.
"That's it," he murmurs. "Get it out."
I rest my head against the cool porcelain when I'm done. "Think I'm dyin', Paul."
"No Ritchie, you're hungover."
"Nah, nah I'm dyin'"
His laugh is warm and low beside me. I tilt my head to the side, squinting at the light so I can look at him better. Big mistake. The room is spinning, but somehow Paul still looks perfect. His mouth tilts up at the corners as he sees me staring.
"What?"
"Nothin'"
"You're starin'"
"Oh, am I really?"
His ears go pink. Even pissed out of my skull, I notice. "Yer dead pretty, y'know that?"
"Oh, here we go."
"I mean it."
"Richard." he warns.
"What, so yer allowed to say soppy shit like that but I can't?"
He shakes his head, smiling despite himself. I decide then and there that he's probably the nicest thing that's ever happened to me. Which is a far too emotional of a thought, I suddenly feel the urge to cry.
"Awh, don't do that face."
His hand slides up into my hair, brushing the sweaty locks back from my forehead. The gesture so gentle it almost kills me. "There he is." he says quietly.
I lean shamelessly into his touch. "Love ye."
His expression softens straight away. "I know. Love ye too."
"No, like-"
"I know, Ritchie."
"Lots and lots."
"Right."
"More than that, actually."
He laughs. "Come on, sweetheart."
The nickname goes right through me.
He stands and holds both hands out to me. I stare at his hands for a moment, my drunk mind not registering what he wanted me to do with those hands. Kiss them? Hold them? I lean forwards and kiss his open palm.
"Ritch, are you alright love?"
"Yeh."
"Up ye get then."
"Oh. Yeh, yeh I'm comin'" I take his hands.
"Don't hurt yerself."
I let him pull me up. The room lurches as soon as I'm on my feet. "Ohhh." I slur.
"Easy, Ritch, easy."
"I'm sound, Paul."
"Yer absolutely not."
I sag against his chest, too exhausted to argue. His arms wrap around me. I bury my face in his shoulder and breathe in whatever stupid aftershave he's wearing. I groan. "Agh, yer so warm, Paul."
"Glad to know."
"Can we stay here?"
"In the bog?"
"Yeh."
"I was actually thinkin' bed."
"Oh, yeh, bed sounds good."
"Thought so."
He presses a quick kiss in my hair. "This needs a good wash, Ritchie."
"Yeh, yeh, I'll get to it."
"Are ye too pissed to walk, or do ye want me to carry ye?"
"Aye. Carry me please."
"Alright." He hooks one arm underneath my legs, and the other around my back. With a heave he pulls me into his arms.
"Yer nice to me Paul. Dead nice, you are."
"It's cause I love ye."
"I love ye morer."
"Morer? Ritch, you really are pissed out of yer mind."
"Its true! I love you morer morer morer morer morer morer morer morer than you ever will love me."
"Oh shut yer trap, ye know that's not true."
"Tis."
"Ah, I said shut it, or yer sleeping alone tonight."
"Alright, alright, shuttin' it."
"Good man."