Chapter Text
Pop
That's the sound that rings through III’s ears when the foot makes contact with his side. It sounds way too similar to stepping on a dry twig; every breath he takes is like breathing in shards of glass, and he can't get a full breath in. His eyes go wide as the pain sears through his side. His eyes find the person who was responsible for it, hearing a crunch in his chest as he moves onto his back, fucking Alex, he owed the man way too much money, and it had come back to bite him in the ass.
He grits his teeth, sucking in sharp, shallow breaths. He sees a hand grasp onto the other's shoulder as he's spun around, his jaw making a crunching noise as a fist connects to the bone. He watches Alex's body fall to the floor, dazed.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Blue eyes meet his own as he blinks, trying to focus his non-swollen eye, breathing, but hardly, through the soaring pain. II, his best friend, the man of the hour, a smile grows on III's face as he hauls himself up slightly, grasping at his side, trying to hold it in place.
“Hiya buddy, how are you doing?” III manages through laboured breaths, he sees a hand reach out to help him up off the ground, a disappointed expression on the shorter man's face
“You need to stop provoking people, you’re going to get yourself killed one day. What the fuck happened this time?” III takes hold of II’s hand, letting himself be hauled up, the other placing a hand on his back to offer him extra support. He clenches his teeth, letting out a pained groan that catches in his throat slightly.
“I didn't provoke him; I just owed him a bit of money, and he caught me off guard. I had him on the ropes.” He wraps an arm around the other's shoulders to support himself, leaning most of his body weight on the other, wincing as they start to walk off.
“How much money is ‘a bit of money’, because if we’re going off how much you owe Ivy, then we’re talking over 100.” II regards him with a look of concern and disappointment as he looks over him, scanning his eyes over the injuries, making a mental note of every visible one
“Okay, ouch, I told you, I’ll pay you back when the money comes rolling in, it's going to happen soon, I can just feel it.” III shoots the other a thumbs up, but slowly lowers his hand when the other doesn't crack a smile back at him. He knows why, but it's not like he's unreliable; he's paid the other back a good few times.
“You keep saying that, but we both know that at the end of the day, even if you get money, it’s not ending up in the pockets of the people you owe.” II lets out a sigh, his free hand reaching out to open the car door, III reaches out to hold onto the roof of the car to steady himself as the other opens the door. He stumbles his way over to get in, wincing as he sits, blinking hard as his vision goes slightly blurry.
The door slams behind him, and he lowers his gaze to his lap.
fuck, he needed a drink, he needed something to dull the pain in his side, to distract him from the disappointment from his friend, to make the inevitable lecture from Ivy telling him he needs to be more careful and that he needs to look after himself. It was all so aggravating that it made him want to curl up in a ball and disappear. The driver's seat door closing snaps him out of his thoughts, his eyes snapping up to II as he buckles up his belt, his hands resting on the driver's wheel as he lets out a drawn-out sigh.
“III, you can't keep going in circles, you're throwing everything away to stare at the bottom of an empty bottle, I can’t keep picking you up off the ground every time you drink yourself into paralysis.”
II’s eyes meet his, as desprate look in his eyes, as if this was him giving III one last chance to get his shit together and live, III scoffs, an offended smile on his face as he rolls his eyes and turns to look out of the window, he wasnt throwing his life away, fuck if he had a couple of drinks now and again to calm his shaky hands and stop the bile from crawling up his throat everytime someone looked at him with a disappointed look, a look that seemed to be on everyones face way more often than not these days.
“Don’t be dramatic, I'm fine,” he mutters as he leans his head on the car window. He was exhausted; everything felt like a chore. The car kicks into gear, and II makes his way back to their shared house. His eyes fall shut, and he desperately tries to ignore the pain in his side whenever they hit a bump, sucking in shallow, sharp breaths every time he inhales.
The car comes to a stop after a good 10 minutes, jolting III from the poor attempt of a nap, he lifts his head, all the adrenaline had left his body on the drive back, so the pain in his side was near unbearable, II gets out of the car, coming over to the passenger side to open the door for III and also lend him a hand inside, he’d broken enough ribs to know that this meant sleeping in II and Ivy's bed to save him from lugging his broken body up the steps, he lets himself get pulled out of the seat with steady careful hands, he shuts the door and walks clinging onto II with a strength that can only be expected from someone in pain.
As they step into the house, Ivy is standing waiting for them, no smile on his face, his arms crossed in front of his chest, his face unmoving as III is placed down on the couch. He smiles up at the other; he's sure the other can see the pain in his smile because he lets out a sigh and walks over to the locked-up medicine cabinet, pulling out two co-codamol returning to the others with the pills in one hand and a glass of water in the other, III holds out his hands, waiting for the other to hand them over, when he does III takes them immediately.
“What the hell were you thinking, ‘Ree? You just healed from last time, and now you’ve gone and gotten yourself a fucking broken rib.” Ivy's hands are flying around as he talks, landing on the sides of his head as he paces back and forth.
“I mean to be fair…I didn't actually do anything this time, he came out of nowhere guns blazing!” he points outside to make a point, immediately regretting it as he feels the muscles around his ribs contract. He lowers his hand with a pained gasp, slumping in his seat slightly.
“It doesn't matter, none of this would be happening if you just paid off your debts, this is the third person this month alone to try and get back what they’re owed,” II, who was watching his lover pace back and forth, said, his voice monotone, holding no remorse for the man.
“Like I've said a million times, they’ll get it back when my money comes in! It's not my fault, it's taking a bit longer than I had thought. I just need a bit more time, and none of them for fucking listening to me,” he replies, staying slumped in his seat, the tone in his voice resembling a toddler pouting.
Okay, it wasn’t like he was lying; he just knew something good was coming, or at least he hoped he wasn’t, because if this all went to shit and nothing came through, then he was fucked, everything is fucked. He’s been working on this song for months. He was sure this was it, his big break, the thing that would change everything and get him set up for life; he was just waiting for a response from the producer.
“They listened to you the first three times you said it, but now they’re getting restless, they don’t care about the fact you're a struggling musician, they just want their money back.” Ivy finally stops pacing, his hands falling to his sides, his eyebrows slightly furrowed with concern. He finally looked at III, his lips pressed into a thin line.
“Tell me this isn't going to end the same way it always does. I don’t want you ending up back in that rehab center, you weren't yourself after you came back,” Ivy half-whispers. He walks over to the other, sitting down next to him. He’s never seen anyone with expressions like Ivy, always looking like a puppy. Right now, he looks like a puppy who just got kicked.
“It's not, I'm fine, I'm all better,” III flashes them both a toothy grin. Ivy sighs next to him, letting himself fall back on the couch. He runs his hands through his hair, as he and II exchange a look before II pats his leg. He looks at them both and then to his and Ivy’s shared room.
“I'll go set up the room,” he turns away, disappearing into the bedroom to make it broken limbs friendly.
III and Ivy sit in silence for a few moments before Ivy finally speaks. He turned his head to look at the other. III was staring at the ceiling, feeling the magic of the medication pump through his body, dulling the pain in his side.
“I mean it when I say I don’t want you to go back there, ‘Ree, I want you here with us, happy and healthy, I want to be able to see you leave the house and not worry that I’ll get a call from the hospital telling me that you've been stabbed.”
Ivy’s voice breaks slightly, he sucks in a shaky breath, joining III in looking up at the ceiling, III feels a tear run down the side of his face, he quickly wipes it away so the other cant see it, its stupid, its all stupid, their both over dramatic, why would he end up in hospital for being stabbed, its not like he's taking money off of gang members, just people he knew from the bar, he wasn't putting himself in danger, but a part of him knows that Ivy's right, that he needs to be more careful.
“I’ll be careful, Ives, I'm not going to let myself get killed.”
His voice shakes slightly, he clamps his mouth shut, then his eyes, breathing through his nose, fending off the tears that threatened to well up in his eyes.
“Right, then do that, don't do more stupid shit.” Ivy sits up, patting III on the knee before pushing himself up, standing there for a moment before turning to look at the other staring up at the ceiling
“Are you having dinner?” Ivy asks, knowing the answer, medication always knocks him out, but no matter what, he always asks, one of Ivy's gifts that makes him all too caring
III shakes his head, looking at the other, a small smile on his face, “No, I’m probably just going to head to bed, thanks, Ives, save some for me? I’ll eat it for breakfast.”
Ivy nods at him and heads to the kitchen to continue cooking. Shortly after II remerges from the room, shooting III a thumbs up to tell him that he's good to go, slowly but surely, III pushes himself up off the couch, staying still when he is up to catch his breath, before he makes his way into the bedroom.
He sits on the side of the bed and kicks off his shoes, manoeuvring himself to lie flat on his back, pulling the blankets that I had pushed to the side to make getting into bed easier for the other.
III stares up at the ceiling, his vision slightly blurred around the edges, partly from the pills and partly from the exhaustion he feels seeping into his bones, more so than it already was. It was no vodka and coke, but it did the trick, letting his mind quiet from the constant thoughts that ran rampant in his mind.
How did he end up like this? End up with his friends begging him not to die in the streets at the hand of some random person he owed money to? Everything was confusing and so damn tiring; he wished he could fix it all, take himself away, and replace it with a new and improved version of himself, one that didn't fuck things up and spend half his life in a bar, one that wouldn't let everyone down.
His eyes flutter shut, sleep dragging him under slowly as he listens to the distant sound of music flood from the kitchen into the room, and slowly, but surely, everything goes quiet.