Same Job, Different Time and Place [R-18] - Part 4

Arthur just hummed to consent as he dried himself off. He went to the bedroom to find pyjamas, not willing to walk around the apartment nude, now that he had company (even if it was the person that he was going to spend his life with). He grabbed a pair of underwear and, much to his horror, remembered that he had a secret stash in that drawer. He paused, swallowing thickly before he began to dig his hand into the drawer, curiously.

He felt sick.

“Alfred!”

Alfred couldn't help but jump up a bit as he hear his name being called and he quickly hurried into the bedroom.

"What's wrong?"

He glanced around, frowning and obviously a bit frazzled.

Arthur threw a sock at him which had something inside of it, weighting it down, looking uneasy and anxious. There was still a small bag of crack in there.

“Get rid of it. Please. I can’t.” He gripped the wardrobe, staring at the sock. It was taking all of his will power not to run and get it.

Alfred easily caught the sock and he glanced inside of it. Frowning as he saw the back of crack, he let out a shuddered sigh before smiling at his lover.

"Yeah, I'll get rid of it right away."

And before Arthur could do anything about it, he quickly hurried outside the flat (after he dressed in a loose shirt and trousers) so he could throw it in the dumpster. He needed it away from Arthur and far away as well. While he wanted to trust his lover with this, at the same time, he couldn't risk it.

It was a few minutes later that he came back, looking at Arthur with concern.

"...Are you alright?"

Arthur sat down on the bed, folding his arms over his chest as he tried not to think about what Alfred was doing. Now would be the time to check the books. He should check the books. There could be traces left. One last hit. It might be enough for a hit.

He could feel splinters entering his hands as he gripped the wardrobe even harder. He barely even noticed Alfred re-enter the room but that wasn’t his main concern. He felt sick. Really fucking sick. He ran out of the room, just making it to the bathroom in time to be ill.

Alfred hesitated as he entered the room and he quickly hurried into the bathroom.

"Arthur? Are you okay?"

He bit his lip as he watched the other from the distance. He never struggled with any kind of addiction so he couldn't really understand what Arthur was going through but it was still extremely painful to watch.

Arthur couldn’t really answer, seeing as he was emptying his stomach’s contents (which was mostly water, seeing as he hadn’t really eaten much for the past two days). After a few minutes, Arthur gasped for air, holding his head up off of the toilet seat. He shivered, grimacing at the burn in his throat and the way his body ached.

“I need some water, please.” He coughed few more times. “And cigarettes. I need to get rid of this taste in my mouth.”

Alfred nodded and he quickly ran into the kitchen so he could grab a glass of water and the pack of cigarettes.

He really didn't like Arthur's smoking habit but it was better than illegal drugs at the very least.

Even if it killed his lungs.

Soon enough he came back with the glass and cigarettes.

"Here you go."

“Thank you,” Arthur replied groggily, taking the glass of water first. He swilled his mouth out and spat out the water into the toilet bowl before downing the rest of it, putting the glass down on the ground. He was quick to light up a cigarette, taking a long drag. He held it for a few moments before exhaling slowly, closing his eyes.

“I needed that. Ugh… that was horrible.” He ran his fingers back through his hair with his free hand.

Alfred just sighed as he sat on the bed, still looking into the bathroom for there.

"Are you going to be alright? Maybe you should get some sleep soon after eating something small."

It was just so painful to see Arthur in this state. He just wanted him to feel instantly better.

It broke his heart.

Alfred soon ran a hand through his hair. They would need to put Arthur in rehab. Whether they wanted to or not.

Arthur breathed a sigh and looked up at Alfred before nodding slowly.

“That sounds good,” he agreed hoarsely before clambering to his feet, holding his towel over his unmentionables as he returned to the bedroom to do his original task of changing into pyjamas. He threw the towel into the dirty laundry and pulled on some bottoms, not bothering to look for underwear considering the stir it had caused before.

He knew he needed to get to the window, in case the fire alarm went off and so he did exactly that, poking his head out of the newly-open window to smoke his cigarette.

“I’ll be alright, Alfred. This is what happens when you have symptoms of withdrawals.”

Alfred just sighed and he nodded, soon taking off his trousers and shirt again.

"Alright..."

Shooting Arthur one last look, he soon went into the kitchen to grab his lover something to eat. Nothing large but enough to put something in his stomach.

It was about fifteen minutes later that he finally came out with some food, something easy to swallow and he placed it on the bedside drawer.

"Here you go."

Arthur took his time smoking the cigarette before stubbing it out on the windowsill and flicking it out of the window. He was sat on the bed by the time Alfred came back and gratefully accepted the food which he began to eat.

“Thank you,” he smiled slightly, feeling better than he had done earlier now that he’d had a fag. “Aren’t you eating? You should eat or you’ll get pissy.”

Alfred just smiled at Arthur, glad to at least be able to see the smile. He hated the smell of the room but he didn't really bring himself to care.

"I ate a sandwich while I was cooking the food. I'll be fine."

He couldn't help but laugh at the idea that Arthur knew him so well that he could easily tell that he would be pissy if he didn't eat anything.

After all food was the source of his optimism.

“Alright, if you’re sure,” Arthur shrugged, suddenly a lot more ravenous now that he’d been ill. He soon polished off the meal and placed the plate on the bedside table before sitting on the bed again. He rubbed at his face, starting to feel exhausted.

“I’m going to go to sleep, I think. Thank you for the food, Alfred.”

Alfred smiled as he saw Arthur clean the plate off and he was glad to see that he was doing better now.

"That's fine. I'll join you in bed."

He soon laid down on the bed, stretching out and pulling the covers over himself. He soon let sleep take over him, hoping that Arthur would be able to get sleep just like him.

He just wanted to spend his first night with Arthur in peace.

Arthur had wanted to cuddle up to Alfred but apparently he had other ideas. He supposed that he shouldn’t have been surprised. He watched Alfred silently once he had gotten into bed beside him. He pursed his lips, contemplating if Alfred was alright. He doubted it.

Soon enough, Arthur was asleep too. But all he could think about in his dream world was whether there were any drugs left in the house. Alfred obviously hadn’t thrown it all out if there was some in the wardrobe. The bookcase. The books. The books. He stashed some in there. The books.

Suddenly he was awake and going into the main room, trying to be as quiet as he could despite the way that his whole body was shaking. He needed it. He needed it so bad. It hurt so much, his head was ringing. He went straight to the bookcase and began to search through the books on the shelves, finding that most of the ones he had hidden his stash in were gone and had been disposed of; some of the pages still smelt like cocaine. He knew that there was some in the rubbish that Alfred had thrown out but he was sure he could get it, if he really tried. If he became really desperate. But then, amazingly (terribly), he found some. He threw the book to the floor and with frantic fingers opened up the sealed plastic wallet. The powder at the bottom was going to be his last hit. He had to soften the blow a bit. He couldn’t just go cold turkey. Three weeks had been hard enough. A lifetime was too long.

He grabbed a takeaway menu from the bookcase, sat in the corner by the window in the dark room and began to use it and the book cover to take enough to have a good hit, but not enough to overdose. He could do a line. That’d be enough. Then he’d flush it. Alfred couldn’t know about this.

He brought the edge of the book up to his nose, ready to have his hit.

Alfred noticed at the middle of the night that Arthur wasn't in the bed anymore. He obviously became concerned considering that Arthur could have possibly been sick again. His first instinct was to check the bathroom to see if his lover was throwing up but he soon noticed that there was no sign of him there.

Soon enough he wandered out to the living room, wondering if Arthur was getting himself more food.

He froze at the sight of seeing Arthur with the line of cocaine.

He still had some? He swore he got rid of almost all of them. He felt angry and hurt. He knew he couldn't completely blame Arthur but he had trusted him enough not to do this.

"Arthur! What the fuck!?"

Arthur paused, mid-line and gulped, feeling like… well, he’d been caught red-handed. He remained calm as he lowered the book as not to blow the powder away and rubbed his nose of the powder that had collected there.

“Hello, Alfred,” he sounded annoyed to have been disturbed. He put the book down and pursed his lips, scooting back into the corner of the room, like he was trying to protect himself. “Don’t look at me,” he mumbled.

He could feel the cocaine going to his head, making him feel light.

Alfred just groaned a bit and he soon grabbed the book. Shooting Arthur a withering look, he sighed and hurried to the bathroom so he could dump the powder into the toilet.

But before he did so, he turned around to face Arthur. He frowned.

"...I'm really disappointed."

And with that he turned back around to go to the bathroom so he could flush down the powder. He would have to do an thorough search.

But they needed to talk now.

Arthur let him take it, at first contemplating hiding the rest of the cocaine in the bag from Alfred, but he let him take that, too. He sighed shakily and felt himself getting higher. He looked up at Alfred as he scolded him and just sneered, letting his head drop back against the wall. Alfred couldn’t hate him anymore than Arthur hated himself, he certainly wouldn’t be as disappointed as Arthur was.

He sighed, his eyes closing.

“Picture yourself in a boat on a river with tangerine trees and marmalade skies,” Arthur sung to himself beneath his breath. “Somebody calls you, you answer quite slowly a girl with kaleidoscope eyes…”

Alfred soon came back to the main room and he sighed, standing in front of the other.

"Get out of the corner. You're a grown man."

He ran a hand through his hair, obviously stressed and at a loss of what to do. He was quiet though, feeling absolutely terrible now and not knowing what to say. What was he supposed to say?

It was frustrating though.

“Don’t fucking feel like one. Stop telling me what to do. It was the last hit I was going to do, okay?” Arthur didn’t try to move from where he sat in the corner, looking up at Alfred. His eyes were slightly glazed over.

“Alfred, just go to bed. I don’t have anything to say to you.”

Alfred just furrowed his eyebrows and stepped closer to Arthur.

"Don't pull this shit on me now, Arthur. Really? It was the last hit? Was it really going to be the last one?"

He went quiet again, glancing over at the clock. It was way too late to really deal with this.

"Not until you come to bed also."

Arthur swallowed thickly. “Yes. Alfred, I can’t sleep now. I’ll be awake for hours. Go to bed.”