Chapter Text
It was dark, and everything was blurred, due to the couple of drinks Kieren had consumed this evening. He wasn't one to drink much, Kieren, but everyone has those nights, you know?
He waited on the corner for a taxi, or a bus or someone to bring him anywhere, he didn't know. He stood at the edge of the street, letting his eyes focus and unfocus on the streetlights. What the fuck was he doing.
Eventually a taxi did pull up. The driver rolled down his window and asked Kieren where to. Kieren recited his home address and handed the man a handful of notes. Maybe one night he'd take a midnight train going anywhere, but tonight was not that night.
"I gotta warn you though buddy, we got another guy back there, and he's pretty far gone, if you know what I mean." he pursed his lips.
Kieren nodded, though he wasn't entirely sure he did know what the driver meant, and slid into the back of the cab, where he was greeted by the smell of smoke and other things he couldn't quite identify. He looked at the man next to him out of the corner of his eye. He had thought he was being subtle, but apparently not, because as soon as he did so the man propped himself up against the door and grinned.
"Simon." he slurred.
"What? Oh, no, I think you've mistaken me for someone else..."
The man broke into hysterics, and Kieren gave a cautious laugh, unsure of what was so funny.
"No, no, no," he mumbled through dying laughter, "MY name is Simon."
"Oh."
There was a long silence.
"You?"
"What?"
"What's your name?" Simon was biting back another explosion. Was that an accent Kieren heard?
"Ah... I'm Kieren." he muttered.
"Kieren. Kiiier-en."
"Ah, yep, Kieren." Kieren turned to look out the window, an obvious sign he thought, that he didn't want to talk anymore, but Simon didn't seem to be catching the hint.
"Mind if I call you Ren?" That was an Irish accent, he thought. Definitely Irish.
At the mention of the nickname Kieren stiffened and drew in a deep breath.
"Ren is just a lot easier you know? Kieren is such a MOUTHFUL. I know it's only two sylla-yokes, but between me and you, I'm not really here right now." he laughed, a little quieter this time.
Kieren was getting impatient. Couldn't this asshole see he wasn't up for talking? "Yeah well I'm not sure it's just between us, if I'm going to be quite honest. Look Simon, you seem like a nice guy, but I'm really not in the mood to talk to you and personally I try not to make a habit of befriending... Addicts." he looked for a less offensive word than what he was originally thinking of.
There was another long silence until they reached Kieren's house.
"You can just drop me on the corner he-"
"Ren?"
Kieren froze and turned to look at Simon.
"It may surprise you that I'm not the only 'addict' in this cab." He reached out and grabbed Kieren's wrist, which Kieren realised in horror had been exposed when he rested his arm on the car window. "Then again, it might not." By the time Kieren registered what was happening and tried to pull away, Simon had slipped a small piece of paper into his hand, and let him go.
Kieren wanted to respond, but wasn't sure how. He backed away from the car, rubbing his wrist, before deciding there really isn't anything you can say in a situation like this. He turned and walked home quickly, not looking back.
When he was in his room, he pulled off his shirt and flopped down on his bed, exhausted and still drunk. He remembered the paper in his hand. He should just throw it away, he thought to himself, not even look at it. But really, Kieren couldn't do that. He unfolded the paper cautiously and read it. A number. A phone number, with Simon's name beneath it, and a little scribbled note that said "if u need to talk" followed by a wobbly smiley face.
What the fuck kind of night has this been, he wondered, before falling into a troubled sleep.