Besties

1, 2, 3... Drink!

"I was only on screen for five seconds even though I spent hours on set and I'm never going to amount to anything. I should have just become a preschool teacher like I wanted instead of letting my family pressure me into acting. At least I'm good with kids. I'm no good at this. I'm never going to star in anything worth mentioning."

I hiccupped as I picked up another shot glass and downed the contents. It had become clear pretty fast that I couldn't handle my alcohol. I was only beating Tom by a few drinks, but where he wasn't even close to drunk yet, I was completely and utterly wasted. I think he was planning to cut me off soon, but he hadn't yet. I knew he wanted me to have a good time, and apparently part of that meant getting my ass drunk as Hell.

"You were great, Scarlett," Tom assured me. "We've been over this before."

"Easy for you to say," I slurred. "Charlie Baker, Clark Kent... You've made a name for yourself. You're good at what you do and people like you. I'm some nobody who hasn't done anything worth talking about."

"Would you stop talking yourself down? You're new to the game. You'll have your chance in the spotlight, you just have to be patient."

"Here," I shoved a shot toward Tom. "1, 2, 3... Drink!"

Simultaneously, we each downed a shot and I giggled as I put my empty glass back on the bar.

"Alright, you're done," Tom announced, grabbing the last two shot glasses before I could drink them.

"But Thomas," I whined, reaching for the drinks. "I have to finish."

"Nope. All done. Let's head home."

Helping me off my stool, Tom kept an arm around my shoulders and steered me through the crowd toward the door. He hailed another cab once we'd reached the street and he gave my address to the cabbie once he helped me into the backseat. I slumped over on his shoulder, mumbling incoherently on the drive home. I didn't remember getting to the apartment, but the next thing I knew, I was laying in my bed and Tom was taking my heels off and pulling the blanket over me.

"Night, Scar," he whispered, flipping off the lamp on my bedside table.

I just hummed in response, burrowing further into my pillow and cuddling into my blanket.

***

I groaned when the sunlight hit my eyes the next morning. It felt like a thousand tiny hammers were pounding against the inside of my skull. My first hangover. I pulled the covers over my head in an attempt to shut out some of the light. I was vaguely aware of noises coming from outside my bedroom, but I felt too awful to care about it at the moment.

"Scar?" Tom's voice called, and I groaned again.

"Shut. Up," I grumbled.

"That bad, huh?" he chuckled, voice only slightly quieter than it had been a moment earlier.

"Thomas," I tried to sound threatening even though I felt like I was dying.

"I made hangover food. Pancakes."

I rolled over under the covers so I was facing away from the window and peeked my eyes out at Tom. He was wearing sweat pants and a t-shirt and held a plate of plain pancakes in one hand and a glass of water in the other.

"I also have drugs to help the headache," he added, setting the plate on the table beside my bed.

Sure enough, beside the stack of pancakes were three little pills. Groaning again, I forced myself to sit up and grabbed the pills first. Tom handed me the glass of water, and I used it to chase down the pills. Setting the cup down, I grabbed the top pancake from the stack and started ripping off little pieces and stuffing them into my mouth.

"Do you remember anything from last night?" Tom inquired, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Getting to the bar... After that it's a blur."

"Yeah, I should have cut you off way sooner. You're a crazy lightweight."

"Nooo. Really?" I asked sarcastically, glaring at him.

"Hey, I didn't know. That was the first time we've gone drinking together," he defended, holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender.

"It was my first time drinking, asshole."

"Exactly! So neither of us knew you were a lightweight!"

"Thomas, you're my best friend and I love you, but if you don't lower the volume right now, I'm going to kill you."

"Fine," he relented, standing up from the bed. "I'm going to go clean up the kitchen. You eat your pancakes and I'll come check on you in a little while, alright?"

I didn't respond, continuing to rip off pieces of pancake and put them in my mouth. Tom headed back out of the room, humming to himself as he did so. As much as the killer hangover was a pain, it was nice to know I was a lightweight who could only do half a drink before things got bad. Just meant that I could avoid more killer hangovers in the future.

I ate two more pancakes before sinking back under the covers and pulling the blankets back over my head. I was determined to sleep most of the bad stuff off. I could hear Tom singing as he tidied up outside my room. Luckily he'd shut the door when he headed out so it was a bit more muffled than it otherwise would have been.

I fell into a restless sleep due to the headache that hadn't quite ebbed from the drugs Tom had given me quite yet. I was vaguely aware of him coming back in to check on me at some point, but he didn't bother me, just letting me get back to sleep. As I drifted in and out of sleep, one thought continuously popped into my head:

I was really lucky to have scored a friend like Tom all those months ago.