#you're gonna go far by Noah kahan | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

listerbirdloml · 8 months

Text

Good Land, or at Least it Was.

Summary: Two years after the events of I Was Born For This, Lister Bird relapses. It's a good thing his boyfriend and best friend love him so much.

Warnings: alcoholism, disordered eating, fears of suicidal intention (to be clear, there are none. it is just worried that there might be. only one line or so), self deprecating thoughts, strong language, slight derealisation, fear of kindness being repaid by intimate acts, and fear of saying no to these acts. (again, this does not really happen it is just a fear! only one line or so), preferably 16+ readers.

Ships: established Bicci

Word count: 2.6k

an excuse to write my pookie lister being cared for and loved

After almost two years of sobriety, there were bound to be bad days.

And there was. There were plenty of bad days. Days that made Lister itch for a joint. Made his brain beg for a drink of something. Anything. It was all just the process of recovery. He knew that logically. If he was any other recovering addict, he would be able to look at himself with compassion. He would understand that sometimes there are mishaps. Logically, that all made sense.

But when it came to that finger turning on himself, all he could feel was judgement. He had been clean almost since the day he woke up in a hospital with a broken leg and stab wound. He had been to rehab. He had spent six months at home with his mum. He had no excuse to relapse. An argument with Jimmy was just not good enough. It was selfish, even. How could he expect his boyfriend to want to stay with him if the threat of a relapse was constantly held over his head?

Lying on the sofa, blankets bundled up to his chin and gaze locked onto the ceiling above him, he knew he looked just as pathetic as he felt. He had only gotten up from the sofa three times in the past four days, only to go to the toilet. He hadn’t stooped that low just yet.

He hadn’t been eating right. He never did. Eating was boring. It took up too much time, too much effort, and it made a mess. Rowan hated the flat being messy, and Jimmy was prone to fright when he could hear pots and pans clattering about. He could have easily ordered something, but he didn’t want to get up to bring it in, and he really didn’t want to bother either of the other occupants of the flat.

After the fight on Monday afternoon, when Lister had disappeared for five hours and come home smelling like a brewery, the two had verbally made up. They had both said their apologies and given their forgiveness. But they hadn’t really spoken in the past few days Lister's been lying here. Jimmy would walk into the connected kitchen and pretend to not be staring, but Lister could feel his eyes lingering on the way his own useless body laid limp, swarmed by thick fabrics.

He can feel parts of his hair tangling in knots that will be the death of him when he eventually finds the strength to brush them out. He knows his clothes are dirty. They’re not the clothes he came home in on Monday night, thank God. Those particular clothes were probably thrown out by Rowan. There was no saving them from the upset of his alcohol-laden stomach.

If he had to guess, it was probably around six p.m. on Thursday. But he had no idea. His phone had died Tuesday morning, and he had made no move to go and get his charger.

There was a face intruding on his view of the white ceiling. It was Rowan.

"Allister." His voice is as deep as ever, holding firmness in a way that usually Lister would scoff at and make fun of. Right now, he could barely muster a smile. "You need to get up."

When the drummer went to reply, he didn’t realise how scratchy his throat felt. He hadn’t had anything in probably two days. Jimmy had left him a glass on Monday night, and he’d still been drinking it by Tuesday night. He just shook his head, but Rowan didn’t accept that.

"You need to eat. You need water." His hands had been resting on his hips, but now they were wrestling the blankets away from Lister. "You need a shower."

"You saying I smell bad?"

"Yes. I am." Lister did manage a small huff of laughter for that. He noticed on the coffee table next to him a fresh glass of water. He picked it up, his hands slightly shaky from the exertion.

"Lis, look at your hair." Rowan was sighing, bringing a hand up to gently touch the large knots where Lister had been lying down. "This is what happens when you don’t get up for over a week."

Over a week? Huh. Lister didn’t even notice. So it hadn't only been a few days since his last proper meal. And it definalty wasn't Thursday.

He made a swatting motion behind his head, and Rowan let go of the tangles. "I’ll get to it."

Jimmy was standing in the kitchen. Had he always been here? Lister smiled at him, happy to see the singer nonetheless. Jimmy tried to reciprocate the smile, but his face was his usual display of nerves and concern.

"I’ll get it. Just sit on the floor." Rowan instructed, taking a pillow and placing it on the ground. Lister hesitates for a moment before he musters up as much strength as he could and pushed himself onto the floor, his long legs tucked under himself so he was sitting cross-legged. The bones were as prominent as ever, likely a testament to his poor diet. Even before the night of his fight with Jimmy, he’d been neglecting his most basic need in honour of practising with Jimmy and working out with Rowan.

Rowan had disappeared down the hallway, and Lister could hear the door to his room opening. Jimmy rounded the kitchen island and entered the living room with his slipper-clad feet. He kneeled in front of Lister and took his hand. Lister smiled and squeezed it, bringing it up to rest against his heart. Jimmy had once told him since The-Day-We-Shall-Forever-Lay-To-Rest, that hearing or feeling Listers heartbeat was a huge comfort. It was confirmation that the drummer had survived. That those moments of cradling his body sat in a freezing river while Lister bled out hadn’t been the last they shared. That their story had ended before their favourite chapter had even begun.

"Am I still pretty?" He most certainly was not. His skin was oily and pale, his hair was a matted mess, and he most definitely smelled like a hamster cage. Jimmy smiled anyway.

"The prettiest." He answered easily, leaning in and pressing a quick kiss to Listers cracked lips. The drummer smiled and rested his head on Jimmy's shoulder when they had pulled away.

"I’m sor-"

"Uh uh. None of that." Rowan interrupted, managing to also interrupt Jimmy, who had been about to say the exact same thing. He had reappeared in the doorway, and in his arms held a comb, a bowl of water, and a jar of what was either shea butter or coconut oil. There was a towel draped over his shoulder, and he fitted it over Lister's shoulders when he sat down behind him on the couch.

Jimmy gently patted Lister's chest before he stood up from his crouch. "I’m going to make you something, you are going to eat it all. Understood?"

Lister never understood the twinge of fear at the mention of eating, but he wasn’t going to try and have today be his epic moment of discovery. He just nodded, and then let Rowan move his head backwards into the bowl of warm water. He let Lister rest his head in it for a few minutes; no one in the room speaking. Jimmy had turned on the Alexa, and soon the opening chords of Willow by Taylor Swift floated through the flat. Lister couldn’t help but smile. Evermore always had a calming effect on him ever since it came out, and Jimmy knowing to play it at this moment made his heart feel just as warm and fuzzy as it did when he first kissed him on the very couch he had spent over a week rotting on.

He couldn’t really tell what Jimmy was making, but he could smell melted cheese.

Rowan lifted his head out of the bowl, gently squeezing some of the water out before he began to apply what was definitely coconut oil to the particularly bad tangles.

This carried on for a fair few minutes, Lister leaning into the kind touch from his closest friend, his eyes slipping shut as Rowan slowly and meticulously separated the blonde strands and ran the comb through them. Lister would wince occasionally as his scalp was tugged, and each time Rowan would murmur his apologies.

He was about halfway done when Jimmy came back over. Lister had been humming along to Happiness as it played, but stopped when Jimmy once again sat in front of him. He was a lot closer this time, also sitting cross-legged. Lister could feel their skin brush at the point where their knees met. The bowl Jimmy was holding was filled with macaroni from a box; the one meal Lister was guaranteed to always finish. He also had another glass of water, but Lister didn’t want it. He just wanted his macaroni.

He held out his hands to accept the bowl and fork, but Jimmy pulled them out of his reach. Lister raised an eyebrow in question before he realised Jimmy was holding the fork up to his lips. It was already loaded with pasta, and Lister couldn’t help his smile as he opened his mouth and took the offered foods.

The two worked in silence, Rowan combing hair and massaging a scalp, Jimmy feeding and wiping a mouth. They both showed their love and dedication to their drummer in their actions. By the time Marjorie was playing, Lister felt as though he could cry. He was nearly done with his pasta, and his hair had been thoroughly detangled. He felt loved, even if he also felt he did not deserve it.

Rowan patted his shoulder, setting the water bowl and the other products he’d used onto the coffee table, Jimmy following with the empty pasta bowl. Lister expected annoyance. They had been so dutifully caring for him in the aftermath of a mistake he made. He’d decided to go out and find a drink after starting an argument with Jimmy, and then he’d let the decision leave him tethered to a couch for over a week. And yet, they hadn’t complained once. They were only worried. They cared about him. They loved him.

Jimmy wiped his cheek, and Lister noticed a few tears had fallen from his bloodshot eyes. He kissed Lister's forehead and then leaned back to look into his eyes. "Now, sweetheart. You really need a shower."

Lister laughs at that, nodding as he too wiped his eyes. Rowan moved so that Jimmy could help Lister up, the drummer's knees creaking as he stood after so long. He mumbled his thanks, making his way to the corridor. Jimmy followed him, however, making him pause.

"What?" He asked. He could see Rowan and Jimmy do that thing where they have a whole conversation with the twitch of an eye or the purse of a lip. Lister hated that. Hated that he would never be a part of their seemingly telepathic connection.

"I’m going to come with you." Jimmy finally vocalises.

"Why?" He looked at Rowan. He knew it was only right that he repaid Jimmy's kind service to him, but he really didn’t want to in that way. He was hesitant when he leaned in closer to Jimmy, whispering, "Jimmy… I- I really don’t want to-"

"No! Lis, baby. No, not that." Jimmy quickly clarified. As morbid as it was, he couldn’t help but be proud of Lister's confidence to speak up and say no. Even if that wasn’t what he had meant to insinuate at all. Rowan looked about as mortified as Jimmy.

"You’re just... you’re not very well right now, Lis." It was Rowan speaking. He had made his way to the doorway and rested a hand on Lister's shoulder.

"Are you serious?" Lister looked between his two band members, his temper spiking. "You’re putting me on fucking suic-"

"Allister." It was Jimmy. Listers neck snapped down to look at Jimmy. His tone had been steely, but his gaze was worried. "We love you. We’re worried about you. I just want to be sure you’re okay." Lister could feel his shoulders deflate. They had spent all night taking care of him and all week worrying about him, and yet within minutes of being up and walking again, he had already been so ungrateful. So eager to start another argument. He could only nod, accepting his fate.

Jimmy had a hand on his back, guiding him to the bathroom. Once they were in, he turned around and let Lister get into the bath. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen Lister undress before, but right now his priority was helping Lister understand that this was not a romantic moment but a moment of help. Of healing.

The drummer sank under the water, and Jimmy turned around and picked up the dirty clothing he’d been wearing so that he could throw them in the washing basket across the room. Lister was resting with just his nose above the water, the bubbles he had added covering the water. He watched Jimmy as he moved around before he dunked his head under the water. Just as Jimmy was about to begin panicking, he rose back up, face and hair soaked. He began scrubbing at his arms with the washcloth Jimmy handed him.

"I’m sorry." It was Jimmy speaking, and Lister looked up in confusion.

"What for?"

"I shouldn’t have shouted at you. The other night." Lister kept scrubbing his skin. "You were just trying to… to spend some time with me." Jimmy's voice sounded shaky, but he seemed determined not to cry.

Lister wanted to object, to push the blame onto himself where it rightfully belonged. But he didn’t. He just smiled, dropping his rag and taking Jimmy's dry hand in his wet ones. "Its okay." He reassured, and Jimmy leaned in. The kiss was brief—nothing particularly spectacular. Lister's breath tasted like cheese, Jimmy's lips were chapped, and Lister hadn’t shaved in a week. But they didn’t care. Both their hands were resting over his heart once again.

"You really need to shave." Jimmy broke the gentle silence, making Lister laugh again.

"You don’t like my rugged look?"

"Rugged? Love, you look like a thirteen-year-old trying to grow a beard."

"Wow. Ouch." Lister smiled, kissing him again.

When Lister deemed himself clean, Jimmy helped him up and drained the bath. With instructions to wait until he was back, Jimmy went to their shared room and grabbed a pair of shorts and a fuzzy quarter zip for Lister. He came back to the bathroom to find the drummer wrapped in a large fluffy towel, his head poking out over the top of it. Jimmy couldn’t help but kiss the wet and clean hair, smelling the shampoo Lister used.

"Thank you, babe." Lister hummed as he got dressed. When he was done, Jimmy once again sat him down on the edge of the bath. Lister sighed but went along with it.

"I can do this myself, you know." His tone is lighthearted. Jimmy rolls his eyes, taking out shaving cream and one of Listers fancy razors. He had bought them on a whim, the metal handle feeling nicer in his hands than standard Bic razors.

"I know you can. I just want to."

Soon, Lister was clean, shaved, fed, and warm under the blankets of their shared bed. His head was resting on Jimmy's chest as they watched a movie, Jimmy's hands resting in Listers smooth hair and mindlessly playing with it.

There was still a nagging voice in his brain. It was telling him that all the hard work he himself and those around him had put into assisting his sobriety over the last two years had gone to waste. That he had only sealed his own fate as a failed sobriety project.

But under warm blankets, with his head resting on the chest which homed the heart he cherished the most, Lister was sure things would be okay.

#i was born for this #iwbft #osemanverse #lister bird #jimmy kaga ricci #rowan omondi #the ark #bicci #bicci fic #title from You're Gonna Go Far by Noah Kahan #because of course it is its me were talking about #a little sad on listers end but his bandmates luv him #my third project pls be KIND

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