Happy Endings Are All the Same: Chapter Fifteen

A/N: Wow, already been almost two months since I updated! Geez, sorry to leave folks hanging. I’ve been so busy.

Also, writing a person throwing up in a fashion befitting of the rest of how this prose has gone is hard.

Anyway, I’m bleedy and Muroi is hungover. Fun combo.

Happy Endings Are All the Same:

Chapter Fifteen

Toshio awoke when he heard the sound of a door being violently slid back followed by coughing and hacking. He sat up quickly to see Seishin clinging feebly to the doorframe and vomiting, the sunlight strong on the floor.

Seishin felt horrendous. The sunshine was not helping. Nor were the chirping birds. Or even, really, the fresh air. His muscles spasmed again as he heaved, an acid burn in his throat and mouth, tears pricking the corners of his eyes from the effort. He felt hands on him, one on his shoulder, the other by his waist, guiding him up from his pathetic position. His vision was blurred; where were his glasses? Had they fallen when he’d thrown the door open?

He pressed a desperate hand to his mouth, then, the change in altitude combined with his poor vision sending his stomach into twists again. Distantly he heard Toshio’s voice as he resisted the urge to gag again, “Come on… let’s get you to the bathroom…”

He leaned heavily into Toshio, focusing intensely on not stumbling or doing anything to cause a racket. He didn’t want his parents to know what was going on.

A wisp of a memory came back to him briefly, of similar attempts at quiet as a teenager after having discovered sake one night, similar attempts which had ended with Toshio being beaten by his own father and with Seishin feeling a deep sense of shame for having disappointed his mother and father. But as bile rose again, it fluttered out of his consciousness as easily as it had surfaced in it.

In the bathroom he threw up again, knuckles white to match the porcelain as he gripped the edges of the toilet. He was thankful for the Western-style toilet; it was easier to vomit into than Japanese ones were – there was something more to hold onto. One of Toshio’s hands was light on his back, another one messily holding back his hair so it wouldn’t get caught in the deluge.

He coughed a lot, hanging over the chilly fixture, and some more of his stomach acids came up, although it seemed that anything he’d had to drink the night before had to be gone already. He hovered a bit even after it had settled down, leery of making any fast movements, exhausted from the ordeal. And he hesitated, too, for bits of the night had started to trickle back to him and he was putting off having to turn to face his old friend as much as he could.

He forced a few more coughs, dragging the minutes out, and the doctor rubbed his back, accustomed to the ill. But he had to stop – if he kept it up, he’d probably start puking again, and he was tired of the sensation. So he leaned back on his heels, finally, and wobbled a bit, worn-out.

Toshio stood and moved over to the wall, settling in with his back against it. The space was small, and there was little distance between the two, Toshio behind Seishin. He reached forward, and Seishin felt himself being gingerly shifted back, the other man’s arms coming around him. He allowed himself to be brought into a seated position, his back against Toshio’s torso, the doctor’s arms loose around him. He was too flushed from being sick to manage a blush.

“I… I’m sorry.” He said, weakly.

“I was worse when we were kids.”

“Well, but you never…”

There was a pause, then, “People don’t usually apologize for giving good blowjobs.”

Seishin shifted a bit, uncomfortably, “I was drunk…”

“You hit on the waiter, too.”

“I what?”

“The waiter. At the restaurant. Although he only seemed to mind that I didn’t let you give him your number.”

Seishin ducked his head in embarrassment, “I’m sorry…”

“Stop apologizing. I told you, I was worse when we were kids.” He frowned, “Why’d you drink so much, anyway?”

“I was nervous…”

“Why?”

“Because… you just filed the divorce papers… and… everything else…”

“Oh.”

Toshio was quiet for a moment, thoughtful, and then spoke again, “Don’t drink so much next time.”

“Next time?”

“Yeah… next time…” He blushed, a rare occurrence, then said hurriedly, “And we’re not going to that restaurant again.”

“Was it bad? I don’t even remember…”

“I didn’t like the waiter.” He scowled.

Seishin leaned his head back, let his eyes shut, “No wonder Kyouko’s getting rid of you.”

Toshio snorted, “Then what does that say about you?”

“That…” He stopped, started again, “I’m hungover.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Hungover…” He felt sleepy. Too sleepy to worry about things, too warm to want to move. It was an even keel, and there was no need to rock the boat. And, so, the village priest fell asleep against the village doctor in the bathroom.