Nick stumbles down the hall, the bottle of Jack Daniels still on his hand, even after however many hours of… debauchery, he guesses would be the appropriate word. The bottle is empty, but he hasn’t been able to put it down; he needs something to do with his hands.
Any other time, Nick would be happily drinking at a bar or at a party or even at his home, alone (he would never admit that that is his favorite way to drink: alone and in front of his television). This time, though, this time is different because not only did he bomb a very important paper, he had been fired from his job at the bar, which had prompted him to steal that bottle of Jack, throw his apron on the floor, and yell “I don’t need this! I’m a lawyer, bitch!” at his boss and the clientele. In retrospect, that was not his classiest moment, but the meltdown had been a longtime coming.
Now he is ready to face the cause of said meltdown.
He pounds on the door once, twice, fifty times before a bedraggled Erin opens the door, a look of pure death on her face. It’s pathetic that even in this state - tangled hair, smudged make-up, and wearing old sweats - Erin still makes Nick feel like the smallest person in the world.
“Romero,” she growls - yes, growls - at him. “Do you have any idea what time -”
“What’s wrong with me?” Nick whimpers pathetically. “Just… Tell me why you hate me and I’ll leave you alone forever.”
Erin rolls her eyes. “Doubt it,” she mumbles. “Three years and you still follow me like a dumb puppy.”
“Is that it?” Nick asks eagerly. “Am I needy? Is that why you won’t go out with me?”
“There are a lot of reasons why I will never date you, Romero,” Erin says dryly, absently looking over her shoulder. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need at least three more hours of sleep if I’m expected to not kill anybody.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Nick says just as Erin is about to shut the door on him. “Just… It’s unfair, you know, because you’re the only girl I’ve ever really wanted to like me and you don’t like me - you hate me. And I know I’m a bit of a dick, but I’m a good guy. I’m a great fucking guy and I’m handsome and if you could just tell me what areas I should work on in order to take you out -”
“I’m not going out with you, Nick,” Erin says. She sounds truly exhausted and this is the first time he can remember her using his first name. “And I don’t hate you,” she admits, rolling her eyes. “You are a dick, but I do see what other females would see in you, but I just don’t want” - she gestures at his general area - “that.”
“So… I’m just not your type, then?” he asks, eyeing her curiously because this conversation has gone in a completely different direction than he expected. Namely, he’s still conscious and nothing has been spilled down his shirt.
“You could say that,” Erin mutters. “Are we done now?”
“Yeah,” Nick says, and he feels a weight lift off his shoulders. Now that he knows that Erin doesn’t think he’s a piece of shit, he can sleep easy, knowing that he’s just as incredible as he’s always thought he was. “I’ll see you in class, yeah?”
“You’re not seriously considering coming to class today,” Erin says, eyeing him once again. “Have you even slept? You’re gonna look like complete shit, Nick.”
Nick shrugs. “I’ll make it work. I think the whole rugged look is hot anyway.”
“There’s rugged and then there’s street bum. You look like you just rolled out of a garbage truck.”
“Yeah, well you should take a look at yourself right now,” he scoffs. “You look like a meth addict.”
She punches his arm, and it hurts enough to make Nick cry out in pain. “It’s three in the morning, you ass. I don’t roll out of bed looking like a Victoria’s Secret model. This” - she gestures up and down her body - “takes work.”
“Well, you could’ve fooled me.” Nick smirks, still hoping that there’s a part of Erin that’ll melt with his words just like many others have before.
No cigar.
“Flattery will get you nowhere, Romero. Especially not to my pants.”
“It was worth a shot,” Nick says, and heaves a very tired sigh. “I should probably go home. I’ll… see you in class, I guess.”
“Yeah,” Erin says and makes a move to close the door when Nick remembers something.
“Wait, as long as I’m here -”
He stops as soon as he sees a hand snack around Erin’s stomach. A smooth, thin hand.
The bottle of Jack drops to the carpeted floor with a thump.
“Are you coming back to bed?” a female voice comes from behind the door. An unruly head of red hair becomes visible and a girl just as bedraggled as Erin props her head on Erin’s shoulder. “It’s three in the morning.”
Erin is so stiff Nick is surprised she still has the ability to speak.
“I’ll be back in a sec, ‘kay?”
The red-head makes a contented sound in the back of her throat and kisses Erin in the cheek. Only when Nick lets out an excited giggle does she seem to notice him.
“And who are you?” she asks groggily.
“Oh, no one, really,” Nick says, trying to stifle his giggles of joy. “Just a big ole nobody. I was just going, actually.” He looks at Erin now. “I will see you tomorrow.”
Erin slams the door shut.
Nick staggers the twenty blocks back to his apartment.
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