"Hey.
... "Luke? You there?
"Are you okay, caro?"
"We broke up," Luke whispers, and that's enough for Atlas to stop in his tracks halfway down the stairs.
"What?"
"He broke up with me," Luke continues.
Atlas is quiet for a moment. He doesn't really know what to say about this. "I'm sorry," he finally comments, because he has no idea what else he can possibly do or say. He thinks back to when he was in this situation and what Luke said to him then, but Luke was less than gentle in that situation, though it was the best thing he could have done for Atlas. But Luke is not likely to respond to that. "What happened?"
"I think I'm gonna give myself... mhm. Alcohol poisoning. Yeah."
"Please don't do that," Atlas replies, and Luke laughs at him. "Tell me what happened."
"I'm so fuckin' drunk, man," Luke chuckles. "Broke into all m... all my shit I had packed 'cause I leave," he pauses. "I gotta leave tomorrow for– for New Haven. Just find me dead on the goddamn floor, right? I don't care, I don't– I really don't even care, man. Don't even know how much I've had to drink. Too much, I don't know. I stopped counting. I don't even care. I gotta, um, I gotta go."
Luke hangs up.
Atlas doesn't know what part of that was the deciding factor in his next action, but it was most certainly alarming enough for him to do all of this without even thinking about it. It's 3:00 o'clock in the morning in Manhattan and Atlas is supposed to be going to work right now, but he shakes Ashton awake with an I need you to take me to the airport and Ashton understands. Atlas feels a bit crazy, but it's Luke. And Atlas had to talk him out of flying out to New York for him on more than one occasion, so this feels like the only right thing to do.
It's five o'clock in the morning in Los Angeles when Atlas barrels out of the airport and learns very quickly that taxis and subways are not the most used method of transportation here. "I feel a little crazy right now," Atlas mumbles as he rubs his eyes. "I need fucking coffee."
"Are you getting a rental? Are they even open this early?" Ashton asks and ends his question with a yawn. "God, I'm fucking tired."
"You could've gone back to sleep," Atlas laughs softly. "I'm waiting on an uber right now."
"Have you talked to Luke?"
"No," Atlas sniffs. "He hasn't answered any of my calls or texts. If I find him dead or some shit I might go postal."
"Might?" Ashton half-laughs. "Babe, I think you'd just curl up next to him on the floor."
Atlas deliberates, but eventually comes to the conclusion that Ashton is correct in his statement. "Well... You know."
Now, Atlas has a key to Luke's apartment. Luke mailed a copy to him as a drunken joke and Atlas just kept it. He's glad he did, because Luke is very clearly in no condition to answer the door. And, well, Luke is in no condition to do anything. He's lucky he doesn't actually have alcohol poisoning, though Atlas isn't entirely sure that won't still happen.
"Hey," Atlas starts, gentle as he kneels down next to Luke, who moved from the living room floor to the kitchen floor at some point during the night. "How you doin'?"
Luke looks up at Atlas, his brows furrowed as he stares at the man like he's just seen a ghost. "You're not... here, you're not, uhh.... uhm–" he rubs his eyes with the hand that isn't holding a bottle of malibu– "You're supposed to be in New York."
