Mateo
And thus the foundations are laid for Mateo's first real stint at actual responsibility. And whilst most would comfortably say it was a success, all things considered, this is Mateo, and every success comes on the wings of a test he'll later fail with flying colours. This time, the test is sobriety.
He'd lasted perhaps a day or so after Ever's meltdown, just to make sure the other man is definitely okay, that he definitely talks to someone about what happened, whether it's Mateo or otherwise, and that he's able to work without falling apart. But once that's done, and he's cheerfully waved Ever off to his night shift, Mateo goes hard and he doesn't go home.
He finds himself, some time after midnight, at a rave (he thinks, anyway). There's a lot of MDMA and a lot of cocktails and a lot of bodypaint, and gods, between that and the bumps of coke, he's having the time of his fucking life. It's all sweat and neon, dancing in the hot throng of people and giving sloppy blowjobs in the bathrooms, until it isn't.
When the ambulance blue-lights him to the hospital, they'll be saying things like severe hyperthermia and dehydration and fell unconscious, possibility of a seizure and other shit like that. Mateo's not really sure he agrees, but then he wasn't present in himself when he passed out, flushed and dizzy and sweating profusely, in the middle of the dancefloor. His pulse is fast but weak, and he doesn't feel the cool cloths being pressed against his skin.
Really, they ought to have just tossed him out into the snow for a bit. He'd have been fine.
He'd lasted perhaps a day or so after Ever's meltdown, just to make sure the other man is definitely okay, that he definitely talks to someone about what happened, whether it's Mateo or otherwise, and that he's able to work without falling apart. But once that's done, and he's cheerfully waved Ever off to his night shift, Mateo goes hard and he doesn't go home.
He finds himself, some time after midnight, at a rave (he thinks, anyway). There's a lot of MDMA and a lot of cocktails and a lot of bodypaint, and gods, between that and the bumps of coke, he's having the time of his fucking life. It's all sweat and neon, dancing in the hot throng of people and giving sloppy blowjobs in the bathrooms, until it isn't.
When the ambulance blue-lights him to the hospital, they'll be saying things like severe hyperthermia and dehydration and fell unconscious, possibility of a seizure and other shit like that. Mateo's not really sure he agrees, but then he wasn't present in himself when he passed out, flushed and dizzy and sweating profusely, in the middle of the dancefloor. His pulse is fast but weak, and he doesn't feel the cool cloths being pressed against his skin.
Really, they ought to have just tossed him out into the snow for a bit. He'd have been fine.
I wanna wake up
Can't even tell if this is a dream
Can't even tell if this is a dream
