Chapter Text
☆.｡.:*Sunday, May 28th 2017.｡.:*☆
Everything is spinning.
Luke tries to keep his eyes open, but his eyelids are heavy with grime and the large bottle of whiskey he’s spent the last three hours consuming. With only a few drops remaining at the bottom of said bottle, he raises it to his lips and swallows. Objectively speaking, it should worry him that he takes zero notice of how sharp the liquid is as it goes down, but he simply drops the bottle to the floor, not giving it a second thought. The loud clink of glass hitting hardwood floor makes him laugh for the benefit of no one but himself and his bedroom walls. The sheets under his half-naked body haven’t been changed in several weeks; they smell of sweat and cum and alcohol and something faintly moldy, and they’re in a chronic state of dampness.
The thought makes Luke laugh again.
He hasn’t found anything funny in what feels like a long time, but laughing strikes him as better than to just lie there like a wax sculpture. It’s been three days since he ran out of tears, and he thinks hollow laughs are better than absolutely nothing. In his drunken, stoned state, he barely manages to roll over on his side, and a nauseating shiver immediately courses through his body.
Closing his eyes, he parts his lips and inhales as deeply as he can manage. The air stops in his chest, won’t reach his belly, and he whimpers as he curls further in on himself and exhales stutteringly. He clenches his jaw so hard his teeth feel like they might shatter any moment, and he reckons that might not be so bad, because surely breaking all his teeth would make him feel something?
He laughs once again and the sharp noise scrapes against his own ears, echoing so loudly he barely registers the sound of his bedroom door being opened. His eyes are still closed, but there are shadows moving around closeby, and mumbling voices are slowly starting to cut through the thick fog that Luke’s mind has been reduced to. He can’t make out the words, but he recognises the voices.
There’s a dip in the mattress, then something that feels like a hand is on Luke’s shoulder. “Hey, Luke, can you hear me?” says Michael’s voice, and it sounds like it’s coming from far away. So, so far away. Everything’s far away.
Luke tries to open his mouth, but his lips aren’t responding, and all he manages is a guttural groan, which punctures when it hits his tongue.
“Thought so,” Michael mumbles. “We’re gonna get you out of here, okay?”
The words take a while to register, and by the time they do, Luke is flying through air, weightless and dizzy. It takes another few moments before he realises that he’s been picked up bridal style. He wants to protest, wants to be put back on his bed and be left alone, but all he manages to get out is a whine.
“Sorry, Luke, but time’s come for some tough love,” comes Ashton’s voice from above, and oh. That’s who’s carrying him. “Cal, grab a blanket from the couch. Mike, can you fetch Petunia?” Luke hears Calum say something and though he’s close by, the words are indecipherable. Hoisting Luke a little further up, Ashton says, “Because he’s only wearing a t-shirt and boxers, he’s gonna freeze to death before we get him home.”
Home? Luke whines again, because he is home, isn’t he? A numb sense of panic, almost completely dulled out by apathy, pinches weakly at his sternum, because if he’s not at home, then where is he?
He’s vaguely aware of Ashton lowering him down onto a semi-soft surface, then a blanket is being put over him, and something clicks nearby. Luke’s head lolls to the side and hits something hard and cold, but it barely registers. Before he can even attempt to figure out what’s happening, his mind disconnects, and the fog that envelops it is denser than ever.
Everything is spinning once again.
Luke can’t feel his legs, and something wet is being thrown at him. Is he on the beach? Is it water that’s making him wetter by the second? But the voices around him are echoing slightly, and the water won’t stop falling, and it’s warm, and he thinks he’s naked. Something’s touching his head, something comfortable and soothing, and Luke manages to punch out a small noise.
“I know, I know, we’re trying to be quick,” comes Calum's voice from somewhere next to him.
“Is he okay?” comes Michael’s voice from behind, and Luke only then realises that a pair of arms – not his own, he thinks – are wrapped around him from behind, and something solid is pressed against the expanse of his back, as if to hold him up.
“Drunker than I’ve ever seen him,” says Ashton from right in front of Luke. “Maybe on something. Nothing strong, I don’t think, but… I don’t know.”
“Should we call someone?” Michael asks.
“Not for now. I’ll keep an eye on him tonight, and if he’s still not back by tomorrow morning, I’ll call an ambulance.”
The world dissolves into nothingness after that, and the last thing Luke registers before he blacks out is that he’s lying down, enveloped by heat from head to toe, and Ashton’s voice uttering a sentence that Luke doesn’t catch.
He only catches the last three words.
“I’m right here.”