Heart's Done Time (Aerosmith Fanfiction)

Chapter seven

Chapter seven

Sesame's POV

"Oh god."

This was what woke me the morning following Thanksgiving.

The hoarse, distressed voice immediately kicked me into caretaker mode, and I was asking, "what's the matter, sweetie?" before I'd even lifted my heavy eyelids to look upon Steven's typical hangover face.

He was pale and sweaty, and his squinty eyes told me he was in pain but was trying to be a man about it, and so he didn't need to use his words to answer my question. His stomach was weak at the best of times, never mind when we was hungover.

I was on my feet before I knew what I was doing, and in a matter of moments I was down the hall and back with a cold wet washcloth in hand. I then brushed back his curly bangs and laid it across his sweaty forehead.

"Shh," I said, rubbing his arm gently. "Just focus on the cold, dear. You'll be okay in a minute."

I sat and waited, then, and when I was sure this wasn't working, I took a different approach, moving his hand from where it was clutched and placing mine there instead, carefully rubbing his stomach with the tips of my fingers and trying to ignore the way it dipped slightly between his ribs and hip bones. Seeing how far south things had gone for Steven in such a short time made me feel sick myself, and knowing that there wasn't much I could do made it all the worse, and so I was now desperate to at least help him keep down whatever he had in his stomach from last night. And pretty soon, I was sure it was working.

He calmed down soon enough, and even began to doze again when I moved my hand from his torso to his cheek to gently stroke the porcelain skin, and when his breathing evened out entirely, I planted a kiss on his slackened lips and lay down beside him again, eyes drifting shut of their own accord.

I wasn't sure how long we remained in this peaceful position, but it felt like mere moments later that the bed beside me shifted and I opened my eyes just in time to see Steven gracelessly stumble out the bedroom door. I quickly sprang up to follow him, and tried to ignore the pounding in my head from my own hangover in favor of nursing Steven through his.

As expected, I found him on the bathroom floor, gagging, and moved to his side as swiftly as I could, pulling his unruly curls out of his face and holding them back while he barfed up his dinner. I had to admit I was disappointed, but I chose to brush those feelings aside for the time being.

"Are you okay, love?" I asked when the retching ceased and he began gasping shallowly for air. He nodded, and I shot him a look. "I don't believe you," I said through a small smile, eyes burning with tears at the sight of Steven before me, completely wrecked and trying to be strong. 

"I'm pretty hungover," he said by way of an answer, flushing the toilet and closing the lid to lay his forehead upon it.

I told him, "You drink too much," and he turned to look at me with a pathetic expression on.

"You were drunk too," he reminded me, un-accusing, and I smiled sadly.

"But you drank more than me, and I'm not a total lightweight like you."

He laughed. "Touché."

I looked him in the eyes, then, which were tired-looking and edged with unshed tears, and I frowned, a few stray tears of my own escaping down my cheeks. The speed at which his smile dropped was astounding coming from someone so hungover, and under normal circumstances it would've warmed my heart. 

"What's the matter?" he asked, using his remaining strength to turn and look at me head-on, eyes plastered to my face.

"I just don't know how to help you," I said through my tears, trying and failing to keep my voice strong and even. "That's all."

His eyebrows furrowed. "I don't need help, Pink. What makes you think I need help?" he asked, and I could hardly believe my ears. Was he being serious?

"When was the last time you were sober for an entire 24 hours, Steven?" I asked, growing more upset by the minute as the severity of what was happening hit me full-force. "And when's the last time you ate a meal and kept it down? You just worry me so much! You're so thin and sickly and I don't know how to make this better!" I was full-on sobbing now. "And the worst part is, you don't even realize that this isn't right." I couldn't make the tears stop. They just kept coming and coming and Steven was trying to calm me down but it just wasn't working. I was so, so scared for him.

For what seemed like ages we sat there like this, me sobbing and Steven speaking words that fell upon deaf ears as I tried in vain to stop picturing my best friend and the love of my life on his deathbed.

"Pink. Pink, listen to me," he implored me, gripping my shoulders with surprising strength. Adrenaline rush, I figured. "Sesame, there is nothing wrong with me. I'm okay. You're right, I haven't been sober in awhile, and I really need to be for once, but you don't need to be upset. I won't drink or smoke or snort anything today, or tomorrow. I'll stay sober for a few days, in fact, and I'll try to eat a decent meal. Just please stop crying, Pink," he said, sounding desperate and on the verge of tears himself. "Please, just... calm down. I-I love you, Sesame. Please stop."

I breathed in deeply, letting his words sink in and allowing him to wrap me in a hug, stroking my hair with his hand and squeezing my body with his.

I pulled away, whispering, "please brush your teeth, Steven," and then watching as he obeyed before returning to where I was seated.

I smiled, sniffling and wiping the tears from my eyes. "Why did you need me to brush my teeth?" he asked, voice quiet and gentle and trusting eyes boring into me.

"So I could do this," I replied. And then I kissed him.