And I just like the Roger + Jake + Harry trope, its cute
CW // Overworking, general panic, anxiety attack, lack of sleep, alcoholic relapse, hangover/being sick
He/they for Roger, He/Him for Jack
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Roger worked endlessly in the kitchen since his boss had never hired a chef. His hands shook as he spread the tomato sauce onto the pizza, even though their clementine employer had wanted motor oil. He was nearing his limit at this horrible pizzeria. He wanted to break down and cry, but who would dare do that? He's a grown man. Or, uh, grown phone. He still doesn't bother to think about it.
He had slept that same day, and he was already tired and upset again? Really?
They reprimanded themself mentally. They finished up the pizza and slammed it into the low level oven. He realized how loud he'd slammed it and just knew his skittle looking boss would make his way to the kitchen. They knew he would be mad. They started to spiral.
He could show up and fire him! He could show up and yell at him! He could show up and push him out of the kitchen!
Or worse...he could show up worried.
His thoughts stopped and went silent after that. He didn't want ANYONE to worry over him. They could take care of themself! He's a grown man... phone... whatever!
He heard the footsteps approach the kitchen door. His heart sank. His chest constricted. He could barely breathe or see.
His boss stepped into the kitchen.
He didn't look mad.
He didn't look worried.
He looked somewhat bored. But Roger took that as an upset expression. Roger's panic took over.
"Employee, please don't slam the doors around here. Makes customers uneasy." Jack says. Roger just nods. Jack raises an eyebrow. "Employee?" He calls out, his tone scarier to Roger. A threatening red. Roger nods again. "What's going on." Jack asks. Roger shakes his head, as if saying 'nothing.' Jack knows it's a lie even if he hadn't spoken to or seen the phone in around a month. Roger, who somehow had a panicked expression even with a phone for a head, didn't look remotely okay.
But Jack didn't want to interfere.
After Roger had made so many pizzas, it was around 5:45 anyways. Jack just shrugged and left. After the orange man left, Roger slowly started to calm down.
By the time it reached 6 pm, Roger just wanted to go home. He didn't stay around for a quick chat with Jack, he didn't clean up after the customers, he didn't refill the vending machine with the mysterious purple slime, he just went back home.
He just slumped onto his couch. They wanted to forget this whole day. The zombie-rabbit-eggplant-man and his 'minor' anxiety attack. He took note of how Jake and Harry were already asleep, both of them cuddling.
He needed to stop worrying. And how does he usually fix that?
Alchohol.
He didn't even try to convince himself not to this time. He hated relapsing, but he got up and unlocked the wine cabinet anyway. They poured themself a glass of wine. Even with his accursed phone head, he drank some of the blood red wine. He preferred it over beer, but they didn't really like drinking anything, full-stop. But tonight he just wanted to forget. He drank more wine.
A few more sips turned into more turned into the glass, and that glass turned into two, and that turned into four, and he somehow ended up drinking the whole bottle.
He still felt sober. Or, at least, sober-ish.
He got up to get another bottle. They toppled over a chair in the process, but he really didn't care at this moment in time. It would be an issue for future Roger, also known as hungover Roger. He gripped the wine bottle and poured himself a glass. He downed it. He drank more and more and more. He felt the guilt, shame, and anger rise up. His hands shook as he drank. His vision was blurry, and everything was too bright. He took another swig of wine. Then another. Another, another, another.
One bottle. Two. Rush to the bathroom and puke. Third bottle.
...
He was no longer sober.
They woke up the next day feeling like they were going to rip their own head off. He got up from his bed and walked to the living room. He saw the empty glasses on the dining table and the knocked over chair. He felt like puking again, but knew he couldn't. Wouldn't. He refused to. It was 8 o'clock, so he got into his car and drove to 'Bear.' Stupid a- hecking name. He still didn't want to swear, even in his mind.
When he got to work, he felt the overwhelming sickness take over. He rushed to the unisex bathroom and vomited. Somehow. They looked sick. They felt sick.
But he kept working.
He worked himself to the bone until Jack stopped him. "Employee. Stop that right now." The orange man ordered. Roger instantly felt anxiety rise up as he heard the stern tone. "Is- Is there, um, something you ne-need, sir?" Roger asked, stuttering and mumbling in the process. "Yeah. I need you to take some time off." Jack said. Roger practically flatlined. "Did- Am- Am I not a good worker, sir? Did I do some- Did I do something wrong?" Roger asked frantically. Jack shook his head. "No, no, Employee, its just that..." He paused. "You're always on edge, you puked in the bathroom earlier, and you're just...overworked." He said. Roger hesitated for a long time before finally agreeing to take time off, begrudgingly.
He drove home. He walked inside the small apartment and made his way over to his, Jake's, and Harry's bedroom. Jake was writing something in a journal and Harry was nowhere to be seen. Roger slumped into bed and hugged a pillow. Jake turned to face him.
"Roger?" She called out gently. The orange phone looked over. "Hey, what's wrong?" Jake asked, moving over to him. "Overworked and hungover." Roger mumbled out. Jake made a quiet sound of worry. "Well, uh, Harry's out getting groceries, but I'm here if you want to talk about it." The purple phone-head said softly, her faulty voice box distorting the tone, but Roger knew ze meant well. Roger tugged Jake closer. "Just get over here." He muttered. "Alrighty then. We can just cuddle."
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Word count: 1047
