It was nearly dawn before Warren got back home. He was hammered, and he struggled to get up the stairs to his shitty apartment. Honestly, he wasn't sure why he tried so hard to keep it. In his eyes it wasn't much better than the streets, but he supposed it wasn't just him he had to think about. He reached for his keys, but the door opened before he got a chance to unlock it.
"Well look who decided to come home," she started, frowning up at Warren. His sister was standing on the other side of the door, her backpack slung carelessly over her shoulder. She was only seventeen, ten years younger than him.
He didn't have the energy to say something smart, so he didn't. "Have a good day." He passed her and headed inside, slipping his shoes off by the door.
She just sighed and headed out, worried for her brother. She wasn't sure what would happen if he kept coming home like that.
Warren knew he needed to stop drinking, but he honestly just could not think about opening that ugly can of worms. He was too tired. It wasn't long before he stumbled into his room, flopping down onto the bed and falling asleep in last night's clothes.
•
He slept most of the day. His sister had been home for two hours by the time he woke up. He probably would've slept longer if he had a choice, but he did have certain obligations he couldn't skip out on. His job, for one, and he didn't trust himself to miss sessions with his therapist. Plus his therapist was hot, so why miss out on that? He briefly spoke to his sister while he made himself look presentable, but they didn't discuss much. They never really did. Most days went pretty similarly to how this one did.
Warren swallowed down several painkillers before leaving the apartment. At this point he was on a steady track to fucking his liver over. Oh well. It was a short drive downtown to his therapist's private practice. He didn't have many patients, so Warren didn't expect to wait long. The relationship he had with his therapist was.. complicated. He'd been going to him since he was seventeen, but things now were a lot more intimate than they were then. More than they were really supposed to be, honestly.
He heard muffled voices approaching the door and shifted in his seat in the makeshift little waiting room. The door to his doctor's office opened and he took a deep breath, watching the other patient as they left. They seemed relatively normal. He supposed you couldn't really tell from just a look, but he'd always thought he looked just a little screwed up.
"Mister Crowe, come in," his therapist started, giving him a warm smile. Warren just gave a slight roll of his eyes, walking into the office with his hands in his pockets.
It was a modest room. The walls were painted a neutral but somewhat warm gray, the curtains on the few windows a deep blue. There was a wooden desk that belonged to his therapist. Matthieu Mercier, the nameplate read. In the center of the room was a small glass coffee table. On one side was a couch, and on the other was a somewhat pricey looking armchair. Warren walked over casually, flopping down onto the couch. He acted like he owned the place. "I thought we'd be on a first-name basis by now," he started, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table.
"When did you get that idea?" Matthieu asked, raising a brow at him and leaning against his desk.
"Well, I dunno. Maybe the first time I had your dick in my mouth. I feel like that calls for first names," he shrugged, sitting back and feeling relaxed. He just didn't have the energy to care about being overheard, at this point. It was illegal, having this kind of relationship, but he didn't care.
Matthieu just rolled his eyes. "You're not paying me for a good time, you're paying me for counseling. So I'll give you just that and nothing more. We can arrange something else," his tone was calm and even as he took a seat across from Warren. He cared more about his job. He didn't want to get found out. He enjoyed Warren, but he was here to help him as well. It was what he did. "So tell me how you're doing."
"Same as always. I've wanted to die since I was sixteen. I'm not really living, just surviving. Nothing's different," he sighed, letting out a slightly frustrated huff. Everything felt the same, but he supposed he did have some news. "I've got a date."
"A date?"
"Yeah, a date. What? Are you jealous?" He asked, a smirk coming to his face.
"No. I'm glad for you. You need someone who can support you emotionally and physically. Not just one or the other." Matthieu stated simply, although his face had certainly given away a twinge of jealously at first.
"You can do both for me," Warren retorted, making a point.
"That's true, but I'm more than ten years older than you and our relationship is nowhere near professional. You need a good, healthy relationship."
He just rolled his eyes, honestly not wanting to hear it. He wasn't good at relationships. If things got personal he had the annoying habit of fucking things up by either oversharing or being too distant. He wasn't good for domestic life. "Just fuck me or I'll leave. The only things you do is sign my prescriptions and give me a good time. I don't need advice I already know."
Matthieu sighed, watching him. "Leave if you'd like. You should really go on that date. As much as I love having you around, your mental state is just as important to me. At least try it."
Warren didn't want to. He'd met this guy a week ago at some coffee shop. They barely knew each other, it wouldn't work out. He knew that, but he promised Matt he would go and didn't leave without getting what he wanted.
