AA for Angst~
WHO: Berwald and Sindre
WHEN: June 10th, just after midnight
WHERE: Somewhere out in the city.
WHAT: Berwald is regressing.
Berwald was being irresponsible. Peter was in the hospital and...he was in the hospital because his ankle had been sprained and not treated properly and then he'd got pain medication and taken way too much of it at once. And they'd asked Berwald questions like "Has he been depressed?" and "Does he have a history of self harm?" and then "What's your actual relation to the patient." After which they hadn't told him much at all, because he wasn't related.
Berwald should have called for some of Peter's actual relatives. Really. But he hadn't been able to find any of their numbers or where they lived...and then suddenly it was morning and he had to go to work where everything seemed to require extra concentration, (which at least stopped him from thinking about Peter all cold and slightly blue and looking so unnaturally happy) except it didn't really work that well.
Then, after work he meant to go home and explain to Tino where Peter was and that he was fine (probably, even if they hadn't said much to him) and...but he hadn't.
Had, and this was the part where Berwald cringed inwardly, despite the haze of alcohol dulling his guilt slightly, he had gone to a bar instead. Only sad alcoholics who couldn't face their (only not really he was just pretending, right?) family went to a bar to get drunk after work. Everyone knew that. He hadn't done that since leaving the family company, damn it.
Propelled by a dark wave of frustrated anger at himself, Berwald stumbled towards the nearest wall lining the dark street, and punched it. Being concrete, the wall was not at all impressed, and the sharp stab of pain in his hand woke Berwald up, leaving him blinking at the grey wall. He turned, to lean his back against it and shake his hand ruefully. Stupid. Idiot, was he trying to get injured to boot. Because that would be so very helpfull for everyone, not being able to do his job, on top of everything else.
Berwald leaned on the wall and covered his face in his hands, hiding in the darkness provided like that. He didn't want to go home like this. Didn't want Tino to see him like this, so...like nothing had changed. Like he was still that mess he'd been. He'd thought he'd managed to change but it seemed now maybe he'd been wrong after all. What if he'd just been fooling himself?
Filled with confused self pity, half born from the shock of having to take Peter to the hospital, and half from drinking and sheer tiredness, Berwald wasn't thinking rationally. And in that state, his thoughts already drawn to the not-so-distant past...it seemed very natural to fumble his cellphone out of his pocket and call Sindre.
He slumped further against the wall, the phone held in his left hand, and the other (still aching dully from hitting the wall) held awkwardly against his chest. He listened dully to the sound of it calling, and calling...
WHEN: June 10th, just after midnight
WHERE: Somewhere out in the city.
WHAT: Berwald is regressing.
Berwald was being irresponsible. Peter was in the hospital and...he was in the hospital because his ankle had been sprained and not treated properly and then he'd got pain medication and taken way too much of it at once. And they'd asked Berwald questions like "Has he been depressed?" and "Does he have a history of self harm?" and then "What's your actual relation to the patient." After which they hadn't told him much at all, because he wasn't related.
Berwald should have called for some of Peter's actual relatives. Really. But he hadn't been able to find any of their numbers or where they lived...and then suddenly it was morning and he had to go to work where everything seemed to require extra concentration, (which at least stopped him from thinking about Peter all cold and slightly blue and looking so unnaturally happy) except it didn't really work that well.
Then, after work he meant to go home and explain to Tino where Peter was and that he was fine (probably, even if they hadn't said much to him) and...but he hadn't.
Had, and this was the part where Berwald cringed inwardly, despite the haze of alcohol dulling his guilt slightly, he had gone to a bar instead. Only sad alcoholics who couldn't face their (only not really he was just pretending, right?) family went to a bar to get drunk after work. Everyone knew that. He hadn't done that since leaving the family company, damn it.
Propelled by a dark wave of frustrated anger at himself, Berwald stumbled towards the nearest wall lining the dark street, and punched it. Being concrete, the wall was not at all impressed, and the sharp stab of pain in his hand woke Berwald up, leaving him blinking at the grey wall. He turned, to lean his back against it and shake his hand ruefully. Stupid. Idiot, was he trying to get injured to boot. Because that would be so very helpfull for everyone, not being able to do his job, on top of everything else.
Berwald leaned on the wall and covered his face in his hands, hiding in the darkness provided like that. He didn't want to go home like this. Didn't want Tino to see him like this, so...like nothing had changed. Like he was still that mess he'd been. He'd thought he'd managed to change but it seemed now maybe he'd been wrong after all. What if he'd just been fooling himself?
Filled with confused self pity, half born from the shock of having to take Peter to the hospital, and half from drinking and sheer tiredness, Berwald wasn't thinking rationally. And in that state, his thoughts already drawn to the not-so-distant past...it seemed very natural to fumble his cellphone out of his pocket and call Sindre.
He slumped further against the wall, the phone held in his left hand, and the other (still aching dully from hitting the wall) held awkwardly against his chest. He listened dully to the sound of it calling, and calling...