Painkillers - {Fred Weasley}

9

It's a week later when I get my first spike in followers. I suppose it's due to collaborating with Him on his new single. Tweets keep my phone noisy while people gush to me about how "perf" I am and my look is "fierce." I just favorite them and move on with my life, which, at this very second, is songwriting. I'm expected to have twelve kick-ass songs ready by tomorrow for my first album. I'm on the tenth. So, instead of taking another trip to Lucifer's with everybody, I'm shackled in my mundane flat with half a bottle of fireball to keep me company.

"Bled... Rhymes with bled.. Bread, led, Ted, Fre-" I snatch up the bottle and take a swig, letting the cinnamon drink burn my throat. "Dead. Dead rhymes with bled."

"Talk to yourself often?" A voice asks, startling me.

I swing my head to the direction of the front door. "Break into people's houses often?"

He laughs. "I felt bad, so I figured I'd come over and help. Also, Souma puked on Lucifer and got us sent home."

"I wish I could say I puked on Lucifer."

He joins me on the sofa. "What are you working on?"

"I call it Ossify."

"Your names are weird."

"Unique."

"Fair enough."

"Anyway, I don't need help writing."

"Really? That's why you're up at three and still not finished?"

I hand Him the bottle. "Fair enough."

"Actually," He pulls a pill bottle out his pocket. "I have something that will help us out a lot more."

I take it hesitantly. "Adderall?"

"It really helps," he reassures.

Somewhere in my brain tells me mixing alcohol and drugs are a major no-no, but I hardly care at this point. I don't contemplate the decision long, nor do the two of us take much more time to write the remaining songs.

~

I don't know how it happened- actually, I take that back. I do. We were too energized to sleep, so we decided it might be a good idea to mix even more alcohol with pills. Then, another brilliant thought popped into his head.

"Let's go get tattoos."

"I'll get the taxi."

~

The tattoo place isn't too far, but far enough I suppose. There isn't a wait and it's surprising they're even open this late, but when you're right across from a bar, I guess it's a strategic business move.

He goes first, getting a duck doodled right next to the accordion above the crease of his elbow. He names it Ammie. In my drunken state, I'm so flattered I cry.

He laughs and leads me to the seat so I can tell the artist what I want. On the ride over, I was stuck between a broomstick and a unicorn, and then I went with a unicorn on a broomstick, but then I just thought of Harry Potter and cried again.

"How words are you?" I ask.

"Pardon?"

"The word thing." I raise my right arm and pretend to write. "Penmanship?"

She shows me a few fonts she's managed to ink on drunk idiots (like myself), even having a comic sans tattoo of "meme."

I stare at her, not really looking at her. How can I form what I'm feeling into words? How could one possibly define this? This bitterness freezing my insides while I'm simultaneously rusting? This desire to be loved by someone incapable of doing so?

"Love will tear us apart."

"I can do that."

I pull my shirt off and had it to Him. "I want it under my boob."

"Alright."

Freshly tattooed with energy slowly draining, we return to my place. I flop onto my sofa and groan.

"Today was too much," I tell him as he joins me.

He pulls out a pack of cigarettes and lights one. "How much did you even cry? You should probably drink some water to rehydrate yourself."

He hands me the box and I take one without thinking about it. I've never tried them, but hey today is full of new things.

"Shut up. You have a duck on your arm permanently. I think that's worse."

He laughs and there's a pang in my chest. The way his nose crinkles and lips curve and voice chimes remind me of Fred.

And I kiss him. I'm so desperate to feel what I felt for Fred that I'm willing to throw myself on the first person that shows the slightest bit of interest.

He kisses back, and it is not at all like Fred. It is harsher. It is deeper. It is passionate. It is something I never knew I wanted.

And it doesn't stop.

That's how I ended up here, locked in my bathroom, naked, holding the journal Fred gave me what feels like ages ago. The icy title freezes my bottom as I put the quill to paper.

There's not enough vodka in the world to help me forget you.

Goodbye my almost lover.

Hey guys :-)

How does this chapter make you feel ? :-)

Ha. It gets worse :-)

But here's Souma bc he's a cute lil cinnamon roll