Andy had promised Ronnie that he would always be there for him, even through his drug addictions. That wasn't to say that the younger man was ok with the other's drug use. He wanted him to stop, it was no big secret. But he wasn't about to kick someone in need to the curb just because they were struggling with something they were completely and utterly addicted to.

So that was probably why when Ronnie showed up at his house at 3 in the morning, in the pouring rain, Andy didn't hesitate to let him in. He couldn't count just how many times Ronnie had shown up, having been kicked out by whoever he was staying with, and he had allowed him in. But this time, something was different. Standing on the doorstep, Ronnie said in his usual fashion, "Andy, I need your help."

Andy ignored it, because it was the same each time. Instead, he said, "Come in before you get sick." And held the door wider for the other to come inside. Ronnie came inside, still trying to say what he was going to say to Andy, but was unable to. Instead, Andy shoved Ronnie into the bathroom with a towel and a change of clothes. They were Ronnie's , from the amount of time that the other had crashed over, he was bound to leave something behind.

Within several minutes, Ronnie was now in a dry set of clothes, and Andy was tossing to soaked garments and towel into his dryer. "Andy, I was serious, I need you to help me with something." Ronnie said, emerging from the bathroom. "Ronnie, we've been through this so many times before. And you know the answer I always give you." Andy said as he handed the other vocalist a cup of steaming hot coffee.

"It's not the usual this time though." Ronnie said, taking a sip. It was perfect. That's to show just how many cups of coffee Andy had made for Ronnie. But then again, Ronnie sometimes liked to make the joke that Andy was his wife. After all, Andy cleaned up after him, fed him, made sure he didn't get sick, took care of him when he did, gave him a place to stay whenever he was on the streets, covered for him, and in general, went above and beyond. Not that Ronnie would ever say that to the younger man's face, of course. Or even to his back either.

"Oh?" Andy asked, sitting up a bit straighter. "Then what is it?"

Taking a deep breath, Ronnie decided he might as well spit it out before he chickened out. "You know how you always say that you're always willing to help me and all that?"

"Uh-huh..." Andy said, not understanding as yet where this was going, and not really caring either. Knowing Ronnie, it would be the same thing as usual that he was going to ask. Or maybe something slightly different this time. But the next words out of Ronnie's mouth were certainly not ones that Andy would have ever thought that the other vocalist say.

"Help me get clean?"

"You what?" Andy asked, not fully believing the words that he was hearing. Of all the things Ronnie could have said, this was one of the most improbable, near "Hey Andy, I feel like quitting ETF, getting a haircut, getting rid of my tattoos and piercings, and getting a corporate job!"

"I" here, Ronnie pointed to himself, "want you" he pointed to Andy, who only made a low noise somewhere in his throat, "get clean" here he mimed showering. The younger of the two was wondering whether he should laugh at that, or not. He opten not to. Instead he asked, "You want me to help you get clean?" after a very tense silence. He had the feeling that at any moment, Ronnie would jump up and yell "Fooled ya! Ya fell for it!"

Instead he got the answer, "Yup."

The younger breathed a sigh of relief. Though he would never say it, even to himself, he'd been waiting for years to hear that. But a sense of doubt still remained, so he asked, "Are you sure?"

Ronnie looked him dead in the eye and replied, "You said you'd help me in any way you can, no matter what." A smirk twitched at the corner of Andy's mouth. "Yep, I sure did."

Despite the sly smile on Andy's mouth, his internal feelings were in conflict. Yes, he had promised Ronnie that he'd always help him no matter what. On the other hand, he knew that Ronnie's issue with drugs was massive, and to end it would be hard, if not impossible, with just the two of them working on it.

"So will you?" ROnnie asked, somewhat sheepishly, dragging the younger out of his thoughts. "Of course." Andy said, all the while mentally bracing himself for the following weeks of hell.

fter finishing his coffee, Ronnie sprawled himself out onto Andy's bed, and was promptly snoring away within a matter of minutes of his body hitting the mattress. Andy, on the other hand, probably wouldn't have been able to sleep even if he had taken several bottoles of extra-strength sleeping pills. He was just buzzing with too much energy, being wound up about the news he had tonight. He had no idea how he was supposed to help Ronnie, but that wouldn't stop him from trying.

His thin form flitted around the kitchen, washing and drying dishes before packing them away, going through the cupboards and the fridge and making his grocery list. He swept the floot before moving in to the living room, dusting off the couch cushions, neatly refolding the afghan that lay tossed over the back of the armchair, straightening the objects on top the coffee table, replacing stray books and CD's onto the shelves. Even by doing all this, it was still not enough to burn off that excess energy, nor did it make enough time go by.

Andy moved into the small laundry room, placing cleaners and detergents back onto thier rightful shleves, removing the now dry towel and Ronnie-sized garments from the dryer, taking them back to the living room, where the singer folded them, before depositing the towel into the small linen closet, and tip toeing into his room to put Ronnie's now-folded clothes at the foot of the bed.

But yet, after he was done with all this, which surely should have left him at least a little tired, the young singer couldn't help but notice it was barely past 5 in the morning, and he was no less tired. Andy heaved an annoyed sigh. He wanted to get some sleep, and he knew for a fact he couldn't sleep this wound up. So he tried unwinding.

First, he tried to read, something light and entertaining, but even so, his eyes could not focus on the words on the page in front of him. He kept reading the same line over and over before he caught himself. So, Andy opted to write instead.

But between his hands being so fucking shaky and jittery from energy, his thoughts hopping around like frogs, and general mental constipation, he couldn't get a single drop of ink onto the page. This left the paper to be crumpled into the wastebasket, and the pen thrown out the window in disgust. "Stupid mother fucking pen." Andy muttered as he threw the small, offending piece of plastic out the window.

Then, our brave Andy gave up, and walked into his room, plopping his scrawny arse into the very comfy sattelite chair located next to his bed, which contained a loudly snoring ROnnie. Wanting to do something to occupy his hands, Andy decided to do his tried and trusted stress relief of knitting.

Andy's knitting had left most of his friends and family with a deluge of itchy scarves, and misshapen hats and ugly socks. It meant him and his Grandmas and great-aunts were the best of buddies, swapping patterns and stories. While it may have left him with a bit of an outcast, it had been there, right next to his singing and writing. At least his mom liked the itchy scarves, Ashley used his butt-ugly socks without having to be threathened with removal of his porn stash, and Chuppy accepted the horridly misshapen hats with a nod and a 'Thanks bro!'

Spoony Interruption!

Nnoitra: No, Andy sure as fuck aint gonna be yer goddamn sock buddie cuz Ronnie needs ta get clean!

Me: Tell the fucker go take a shower then, before I throw him in the washing machine.

Nnoitra: No, as in he needs to stop doing drugs.

Me: Then tell him to give the wacky tobacky back to Bob Marley.

Nnoitra: Dafuq? are you or are you not the author?

Me: Authoress. I don't stand and piss. And I have no clue. Am I?"

Nnoitra: facepalm

Me: You'll knock out whatever brain cells you have left.

So anyways, knitting was just not doing it for Andy. Color work was getting messed up, ribbing going awry, knitting in the round, he kept dropping the tiny, slippery needles and getting tangled into the wires, cabling he kept forgetting to put the stitches back where they belong, and he kept dropping stitches. He must've started, and ripped out, at least 2 dozen projects that night, leaving the singer more frustrated.

Finally, he gave up, opting to just sit and stare at the still snoring Ronnie in a most creepy way.

Hurrah for Creeper Andy!