World Tour

NY: hangover

They lay there for ages, not talking, Eddy groaning every once in a while. 
The painkiller was helping a bit, and after a while he took a very careful bite of soft, white bread. 
But he knew he was in serious trouble. He had a concert to play, shit to arrange before that, and the time that could be spent recuperating in bed was very quickly running out. 

He opened his eyes, wincing when the light came into them. 
¨Fuck, I am so stupid,¨ he whined. ¨How am I going to get through this day?¨
¨You're a professional, that's how¨, Brett's reassuring voice came.
He added, in a soft tone: ¨I.. uh... I'm very sorry if I should have done something differently last night.¨
What? Seriously? Brett was finding something he did wrong in this situation? 
He opened his eyes for real now, and looked at Brett. 
¨Excuse me, is your superpower blaming yourself for absolutely everything?¨ he growled.  ¨I'm a grown adult, and should be able to moderate my alcohol intake on my own, that's not on you, bro.¨
Brett nodded. ¨I still wish I'd have taken that first Jägerbull out of your hands, though...¨
¨Well, I wish I'd have not been stupid enough to order it in the first place.¨

Slowly he sat up, willing the contents of his stomach to stay in place. He knew he needed to get up and do his job. 

Eddy managed to eat some of the bread and put on some clothes.
He walked the streets of New York with his eyes almost closed, wincing from the sounds around him, trusting Brett to lead him to the venue.
As soon as they walked into the concert hall they saw Ibo leaning against a wall, looking exactly as rough as Eddy was. Despite themselves Eddy and Ibo both sniggered, and then groaned in unison. 
¨Yup, we are idiots¨, Ibo said, with feeling. 
¨Go home, Ibo, get some sleep¨, Brett said. ¨We'll be fine without you.¨
¨You sure?¨ Ibo croaked, already starting to walk towards the exit. 
¨Very sure. Go. ¨

No such luck for Eddy though, he was pretty much indispensable.
This wasn't his first hangover, but it was the first time he'd been stupid enough to get one before having to play solo. And in New York, of all places. What an absolute wanker.
Over the course of the next couple of hours he tried his very best to hold up his responsabilities, but he kept feeling like he might throw up again any second, and he knew he wasn't of much use. 

As lunch time approached a small Asian man in a red suit walked in. 
¨Brett Yang?¨ he asked. 
Brett came running up. ¨Yes! Hi! Thanks so much for coming! The patient is here¨, he said, pointing at Eddy. 
What the fuck? He looked at Brett, brows furrowed. 
Brett turned to him and said, quietly: 
¨I called an acupuncturist, who was willing to come straight away. I've heard they can do wonders with this kind of thing. Willing to give it a go?¨
Eddy had to smile. Brett knew full well that, had he asked, he'd have said no, he didn't need it. So he'd just arranged it himself, and there was no way Eddy could refuse the help now. 
¨Thank you for caring so much¨, he said simply, leaning his head on Brett's cheek for a moment, and then walking off to the dressing room with the small man following him. 

There he was, faced with that red couch again, but boy, had he preferred the last encounter he'd had with it.
He lay down, putting his head on the plush pillow, and before he knew it he had about twenty needles stuck in him. Some were in his ear, some in his stomach, some in his limbs and there was even one sticking out of the top of his head, like some sort of weird antenna. 
The man had felt his wrist, and then he had smiled and asked him in Mandarin whether he'd had too much of a good time, last night. Then he had proceeded to unceremoniously hike up his t-shirt and stick the first needles in without another word. 
He'd wondered for a moment how the man realised he could speak Chinese, but he'd rolled with it, and replied that yes, he'd been very stupid, and thank you for helping. 

Unbelievably, half an hour later he was feeling an awful lot better. 
The acupuncturist removed all the needles, told him to drink three glasses of water and take it easy for a little while, and set off with his supplies, leaving a slightly bewildered Eddy behind. 

As soon as he'd left, Brett walked in. 
¨My wonderful boyfriend¨, Eddy said, sitting up with a huge smile, ¨You are a marvel. I'm feeling a lot better.¨
Brett beamed. ¨I'm so glad! So, I have my buddy on stage tonight?¨
¨You were always going to have that¨, Eddy growled. 
¨Yeah, but now we may not need to keep a sick bucket in the wings¨, Brett quipped. 
Eddy laughed and shook his head, and got off that couch, that now held so many memories.

It turned out to be a great concert as well. The venue had sold out, and everything worked.
His head was still smarting a little bit and he hadn't eaten very much, but he played and he knew he played decently.
He even got through the meet and greet okay, and before he knew it they were walking back to the hotel, hand in hand, his head clearing with the night air. 

He was never drinking Jägerbull ever again.