Nine had had some rough days.
Through the tough, cocky, and indifferent mask, Nine was secretly insecure. Between killing Sandor, and basically killing Eight (in his eyes), there were some days where Nine could barely stand himself. Those were the days where he sat isolated in a bar, drinking his insecurities away. He didn't know of a better way to do it.
Today was one of those days. Nine had cracked. From what, who, or when no one knew. Deep down, Nine hated the way he was, the way others looked at him, and what they didn't see. Well, most of them. There was one exception, and that one exception was the reason Nine was hiding.
His fingers shook while reaching out to the next glass. Who knew what number he was on. All Nine knew was that it was only a few more until he passed out, or worse. His unsteady hand made the contents of the glass almost spill, so Nine squeezed it tighter with his palm. He brought the edge up to his lips. He forced his eyes shut, waiting for the burning sensation that trickled down his throat.
Before he could taste the amber liquid on his tongue, Nine felt someone tugging gently on his arm, lowering the glass away from his face.
When Nine opened his eyes, he saw a mess of blonde hair and a disappointed frown.
"How did you find me?" Nine croaked. His throat was raw.
John eased the shot glass from Nine's numb fingertips. "I have telepathy, you know."
John reached out a hand to the side of Nine's face to heal him,, bring him back sober again, only to have Nine jerk back. "Don't," Nine said hoarsely.
"This-" John gestured to their surroundings. "This is not going to make things better."
"So?" Nine looked up at him with bleary eyes. He could already feel himself drifting. "I'm a piece of shit, it doesn't matter."
"We all are"
"I'm worthless."
"Not to me."
"Why- why are you saying this?" Nine gulped.
John crosses his arms and moves closer. His eyes bore into the other Garde with determination and an air of stubbornness. "Because it's true."
"I'm not worth it, Johnny."
"Yes you are. You're always worth it. Don't give me that worthless shit, Nine. I don't want to hear it. I know you are so much better than you think you are. You just have to believe that. I do. You matter, Nine." John leans in and kisses Nine with his eyebrows scrunched together in concentration.
"You're strong, capable, good-hearted, loyal, smart person. And kinda good-looking."
Nine smiles weakly. "What am I, again?"
"Drunk, for one thing, so it doesn't matter." John laughs, and adds, "Let's get you out of this shit hole, okay?"
Nine hesitates, looking longingly at the alcohol. A year ago, he would have just replied with a "fuck it" and drowned the rest of his drink. Now, however, there were two sides to the argument. On one hand, Nine could keep going like he normally would. Sure, it wasn't great for the long-term, but it numbed the pain in the meantime. But Nine knew now he had something he didn't all those years ago. Someone who could probably eliminate the pain altogether. And it just so happened that his someone loved him like no one else had. Nine had a chance at this. "Okay."
