Why Are We (Best) Friends?

Fuck This

The Present.

"That fucker drives me fucking insane!" Patton's shouting bounced off the walls. "Virgil keeps getting fucking mad at me and I don't even know what I'm doing fucking wrong at this point, but he won't fucking tell me what the fuck it is either!" He ranted. Remus nodded along, sat across from him. His legs were crossed with his pointy elbows resting on top, and his spine bent awkwardly so he could settle his head in his palm. Thoroughly entertained, Remus hummed every now and then in agreement like a sham therapist.

"And Roman! He... he... You know why he's a bitch," Patton lamented. A cackle shattered Remus's short-lived, feigned seriousness.

"The last time we saw you was fucking Christmas," Patton mocked. "Maybe because you didn't fucking invite me, idiot. Of course Logan wouldn't, though, all high and mighty smartass. And my puppet idea was a fucking good idea goddamnit. Bullshit. Bullshit!— ugh," Patton sighed out his remaining traces of frustration. He crossed his arms over his chest and sunk into the green bean bag. Some of the styrofoam beads spilled out a small tear on the poor, battered, ever shrinking bean bag.

Grinning wildly, Remus said, "While that was a marvellous performance, I must say it could do with a little more variety in your profanity." Patton gave an amused, breathy snort.

"Why are we friends, Remus? You're such a bad influence on me," Patton said teasingly. Remus rolled his eyes as Patton plucked another Pepsi can (which contents had most definitely not been poured down the drain and refilled with a concoction of cocktails) from his mini fridge. Remus let Patton hide his alcohol stockpile in his room since his dear friend was so paranoid of the other sides discovering it. "Encouraging me to curse, letting me have access to vodka..."

"Oh, shut up. You've become an alcoholic all on your own," Remus said dismissively.

"...True," Patton conceded. "You were always more the type for cookie mix," Patton added as an afterthought. Remus doubled over into a laughing fit. Cookie mix most certainly had nothing to do with cocaine. He couldn't help but laugh at the smug knowing look Patton sent him as him floundered.

"You— you can't— I've been clean for a few months now!" Remus said defiantly, sinking further into his beanbag with his arms crossed. (Quickly, Remus double checked, pulling his hair over his eyes only to find clear brown, no white in sight. Phew.) Patton hummed sceptically. "But you did have shrooms recently," he teased.

Remus huffed. "No I haven't— ...Wait—" Remus paused, "Have I?"

"I don't know," Patton smiled, "Have you?" Remus let his eyes wander the room. "I can't remember..."

Patton rolled his eyes fondly.

"You know as long as you're not over doing it, and you're being as safe as possible, it's fine with me. I don't have any right to judge," Patton said reassuringly. Yes, Patton knew it was inherently wrong to not at least try and steer his friend onto a less self-destructive path. Remus, to him, was like a hairless Chinese Crested puppy. Very weirdly adorable in the nasty kind of way. (That sounds bad, but he truly means it in the best way possible. What he lacked in hair as a metaphorical dog, he made up for in personality and a good heart muddle somewhere in there). Which meant he struggled to ever say no to him.

Patton also knew that the last thing he wanted to be was a hypocrite. Maybe once he got himself on the right track, then he'd intervene more.