Polymath

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Jules was at my house, but Hancock wasn't. He, according to Jules, had drunk all four of the beers last night when he got home, and was suffering from a hangover and a migraine. Poor thing.

That wasn't like Han at all, though, which worried me more than my bad luck. I had only seen him drunk one time, which was at college graduation. Well, his graduation. All three of us had four years at a different college each, so therefore we graduated at different times.

No matter how many times I swore myself Hancock was just a friend, as was only going to be a friend, I wasn't sure that was true. I cared for him so much deeper than I ever did Killian. It was killing me.

Jules was so nonchalant about this, as if he had seen Hancock drunk plenty of times. I hadn't, and it was painful to think about the things they had kept secret from me for the seventeen years I was involved in their lives.

"Are you sure he's okay?" I asked. I noticed a thread sticking out from my positioned couch cushion and started to pick at it.

"Yes, Ford. Hancock drinks a lot, yeah. This isn't his worst."

I stared at him and felt my cheeks get hot. "How much does he drink? And be honest with me."

Jules chest swelled and then caved back in. He seemed to want to sink into my couch, which probably wasn't the best idea. "He drinks an average of six or seven every three days."

"Why didn't either of you tell me?"

"He's working on rehabilitation, and was worried you wouldn't want to talk to him if you learned he was an alcoholic. He only started drinking on his twenty-first."

I felt a surge of anger, but it quickly dissolved to deep hearted concern. I needed to see him and make sure he was okay, despite Jules' reassurance.

"I need to see him," I told Jules as I slipped on my flats. "Come with me."

Jules pulled himself off the couch with a sigh and followed me out of the door and up the street. He slipped his arm around my shoulder when he got to their driveway, and that was the strength I needed.

"Han!" I shouted as I walked into the house from the door in the back of the garage. The television was on, and I could see the glare in the back window. But, no Hancock.

"He's in his room, Ford. Don't fret."

Don't fret, Redford. Don't fret.

"Jules? Is that you?" Hancock's voice drifted from the bathroom. He sounded weak. "Come 'ere I need your help."

Jules looked at me with the most depressing, pleading look. He always did that, ever since I've known him, and I never said no. This time I didn't say anything but followed him down the narrow hallway to the bathroom.

Hancock leaned against the sink, facing the toilet. His hair was bent up at odd angles, and I figured he had just gotten out of bed. Advil and other pain pills were scattered on the floor; the bottle lay beside Han's foot.

He looked up with such pain in his eyes it hurt me. Jules didn't talk at all and just swept the pills back into the bottle with his wide palms. I reached down and picked up the little white pills that had ended up by the door frame, and handed them sheepishly to Jules.

I glanced up at Hancock, but ended up staring. He was sad, I could see it, and he didn't even have to look at me. I stood up and walked over to him. Before he could say hey, I wrapped my arms around his torso and pulled myself towards him.