They’re supposed to be leaving for tour in two days. Two fucking days. That was all he needed from Eoin. To stay put for two days.
He’s got one shoe on and not even a sock on the other foot, his pants are unbuttoned, his shirt is gone, and his hair is a mess. There’s a bottle of Jack between his teeth and a phone pressed between his ear and his shoulder while he glares at the fucking classic coffee machine Eoin made them get instead of the Kurieg Stevie wanted. It’s goddamn rocket science to make it work and he’s too hungover for that shit.
He tells Siri to call again. He’s got hickies across his hip bone which is a shame because he can’t really remember last night but there was definitely a pool involved at some point. What he does remember is Eoin was home when he stumbled in, and gone when Rin woke him.
Stevie threw his phone down when it went to voicemail again and pulled the bottle from his mouth before shouting “Rin!” He saw her cross the apartment and throw her hands in the air. So Eoin wasn’t answering her either. At least it wasn’t some personal vendetta against Stevie. She also wasn’t coming into the kitchen, which meant she wasn’t going to save him from the damned coffee machine.
“Fuck it,” he grumbled, pushed the thing away, and took a few deep gulps of whiskey as he picked up his phone again. He’d just pulled up Instagram when Eoin’s ridiculous username flashed across the screen stating he’d gone live. He gives him a few minutes of not saying where he is (although the dark sky in the window at his side says it’s not New York, because the sun hadn’t set yet at home) before he tags Dua in it asking if she can believe this shit.
Two days. That was all he fucking needed. Eoin was the leader of LSM, not Stevie. He didn’t have his shit together enough to keep the other two shits together.
He crosses the livingroom in a few quick steps and falls on the couch on top of Kasper, who groans under the brunt of his weight, but he ignores it and buries his face in his friend's neck instead. “Eoin took off. Wanna overdose in his bed to get back at him?"
He’s got one shoe on and not even a sock on the other foot, his pants are unbuttoned, his shirt is gone, and his hair is a mess. There’s a bottle of Jack between his teeth and a phone pressed between his ear and his shoulder while he glares at the fucking classic coffee machine Eoin made them get instead of the Kurieg Stevie wanted. It’s goddamn rocket science to make it work and he’s too hungover for that shit.
He tells Siri to call again. He’s got hickies across his hip bone which is a shame because he can’t really remember last night but there was definitely a pool involved at some point. What he does remember is Eoin was home when he stumbled in, and gone when Rin woke him.
Stevie threw his phone down when it went to voicemail again and pulled the bottle from his mouth before shouting “Rin!” He saw her cross the apartment and throw her hands in the air. So Eoin wasn’t answering her either. At least it wasn’t some personal vendetta against Stevie. She also wasn’t coming into the kitchen, which meant she wasn’t going to save him from the damned coffee machine.
“Fuck it,” he grumbled, pushed the thing away, and took a few deep gulps of whiskey as he picked up his phone again. He’d just pulled up Instagram when Eoin’s ridiculous username flashed across the screen stating he’d gone live. He gives him a few minutes of not saying where he is (although the dark sky in the window at his side says it’s not New York, because the sun hadn’t set yet at home) before he tags Dua in it asking if she can believe this shit.
Two days. That was all he fucking needed. Eoin was the leader of LSM, not Stevie. He didn’t have his shit together enough to keep the other two shits together.
He crosses the livingroom in a few quick steps and falls on the couch on top of Kasper, who groans under the brunt of his weight, but he ignores it and buries his face in his friend's neck instead. “Eoin took off. Wanna overdose in his bed to get back at him?"