chelsea hotel no2

Ah yes, now Riley is reminded of why he associates Eros with a buzzing fruit fly. He doesn’t know how to leave well enough alone. He doesn’t believe him that he’s fine (abiet, it’s not very convincing) and then goes a step further to touch his ribs.

His body seizes up and he coils over in pain, a sharp hiss leaving his lips and he doesn’t know whether he wants to cry or punch Eros in the face. He settles with a glare, holding himself like injured prey, worried something is going to touch him again. 

You helped me. You’ve been helping me

He knows Eros is right, hates admitting it. He’s not sure what else he can do though. He’s got him backed into a corner and at this rate he’s not going to be able to work let alone stand up straight. He has to let Eros help him regardless if he wants it or not. 

He lets his eyes close for a moment and lets out a very slow breath through his nose. 

“Fine,” He snaps, mostly from pain and not because he’s angry. “Just. Fine.” The nickname of Riles is too sweet on the other’s tongue and he knows he should do everything in his power to pull away from it. 

But he can’t. Not this time.

“You’re going to need to help me since you keep poking at my ribs.” 

Eros does. Eros helps him upstairs and slowly sits down on the couch, unbuttoning his shirt and pulling it from his pants. “Alright you can go.” 

It takes Eros purposefully hurting Riley to admit that he does need help. “Sorry,” He apologises with a little half-smile in hopes it’ll make up for it. He’s persistent, yes but, Eros has to be persistent to get where he wants to in life. Plus, he’d be worried all night if Riley was just propped against the bar or grimacing when people brushed past him, and Eros couldn’t do anything about it. “That’s what I’m here for,”

Eros takes most of Riley’s weight as they slowly make their way up to the familiar office, with its plush interior. They always seem to end up here, one way or another. It’s becoming a re-occurring place for the both of them, and Eros isn’t sure if it’s a good thing or not. This is where all their emotional trysts happen. This is where they first had sex, and this is where Riley let him sleep in his lap, and now it's where Eros will come after his set to make sure he’s okay.

Gently, he lowers him onto the couch and lingers behind a little awkwardly as Riley begins to shed his shirt. Eros catches sight of his ribs and worry works its way across his brow. Ribcages don’t look that...bumpy, do they? They’re sore too, and tomorrow probably black and blue. He can go but he doesn’t want to. 

“Will you...stay up here?” Eros asks. “I mean - after I’m done, I’ll come to see you? To make sure you can get home okay. I don’t mind giving you a lift, I’m not drinking tonight so I brought my car,” It’s an open suggestion. “I’ll tell Kenny to ring that doctor of yours, and I’ll come up during my half an hour break. Don’t - don’t pass out, yeah?”

There’s a worry one of the bones could have punctured a lung. What if Riley drowns in his own blood while he’s belting out Rocket Man? Eros doesn’t want to think about that. Instead, he gives him a quick, almost motherly kiss on the forehead before going back downstairs. The guests are slowly being allowed in V.I.Ps first. The singer checks in with the bar staff and tells Kenny to ring the doctor before rushing off backstage.

He doesn’t have time to do his proper vocal exercises. Eros hopes he’ll be okay.

Shit. He didn’t move fast enough and Eros saw him–he knows he saw him. He should have just waited until he was backstage to pick up the fucking glass; now on top of everything else he has to deal with a nosy performer. He straightens his back and steels himself because he refuses to admit anything’s wrong. For one, he’s not about to admit he needs help or he’s hurt; that’s a sign of weakness that Anderson’s don’t have the luxury of having. 

He’s got a damn club to run for the thousandth time. 

And secondly, it’s none of Eros’s business what happened to him. He’s not about to get him involved. It’s bad enough Riley made a bunch of not-so-secret donations to help him while he was sick. If this was any other performer he wouldn’t have bothered. 

God, he’s in so fucking deep. 

“There’s water backstage, you know that. What you think I’m some sort of amateur?” His eyes go cold as he stares at him, “I’m fine.” He shakes his head but it’s too late, Eros is already–

he’s going behind the fucking bar and oh my god. 

“The fuck are you doing?” He’s getting him ice. Riley swallows and tries not to move so quick he injures himself but he does manage to smack one of Eros’s hands. “I don’t need your help, there’s nothing wrong. You know what I do need? For you to do your damn job. This is your first show in awhile, you need to warm up, I’m not about to buy a whole round of drinks again because you can’t hit your notes.” 

Of course, Riley doesn’t want help. Eros doesn’t care, he needs it. Guy doubled over like he’d broke half his ribs and that sent fear straight through him, and Eros is never afraid on anyone’s behalf. They’re under each other's skin now, buried for good. Doesn’t matter what they do, how far apart they are - there will always be that itch. Eros seems more willing to scratch it though than the other.

“Bullshit, you can’t even pick up a fucking glass,” Eros says back, face coloured red with embarrassment at what he says. Not hitting the note wasn't his fault, and he has to bite his tongue to stop himself from getting riled up about it. Riley is trying to get him to go, he has to repeat it to himself. “I am going to do my damn job, just as soon as you go upstairs to lie down,”

As stubborn as ever. Eros takes a different approach. He gently puts a hand on Riley’s shoulder. “You helped me. You’ve been helping me - don’t deny it, dude, I know. So let me do the same because this?” And he moves his hand down to the side of Riley’s chest and presses against bruised and broken ribs. Not hard, just enough to see the pain and discomfort flash across his face.

“That’s not cool. You can get Kenny or whatever-his-fucking-name-is to ring your private doctor, ‘cause those ribs feel like a bad of candy sticks to me, and I can do my set. The bar runs itself, you know that,” The taller swallows and takes a softer tone. “Please, take a night off, or I’ll be staring at you all night with this big, worried expression like a kicked dog. You know that’ll annoy you. It’s okay to need help if that’s your problem. I’m offering just like - take care of yourself Riles, god,”

If Riley can’t, Eros will.

Riley practically jolts on the spot as he hears Eros greet him and drops a glass he’s drying. Luckily it doesn’t shatter because of the rubber underneath his feet but he does stare at it a few moments longer than necessary because…because he can’t pick it up. 

He looks over his shoulder and lets out a slow breath out his nose because fuck, it’s so good to see him and he looks so good. Not like the last time they’ve been in this bar together. He looks healthy, pink, clean shaven and hair styled. Gorgeous and Riley has to put his entire body on standby because he can’t get caught up on how much he wants to kiss him. 

Or bite his lower lip. 

So he turns a little and just shakes his head. 

“Couldn’t stay away hmm?” A little too fond for his liking but he does smile, can’t quite stop that from happening. At least his number one act is back. He sets the towel down on the bar and takes a sip of the whiskey that’s sitting there. It’s strong and fills up his entire center like a warm hug. 

“Who said I missed you? Seems like you’re the one missing me showing up unannounced.” He teases, clearing his throat when his toe hits the glass still on the ground. 

“What are you standing here looking at me for? We open up in a half hour, go get ready.” He points towards the back stage entrance that Eros knows well and when his attention is diverted, he slowly bends and picks up the glass he dropped. 

Pain shoots through his ribs and abdomen and he has to grab onto the side of the bar as he stands but he schools his face into neutral really fast even though his breathing is a little heavy. He clears his throat and sets the glass in the sink to wash again. 

His eyes meet Eros’s, he still hasn’t left, “What? Trying to scrounge up a free drink too?”

Riley smiles at him and the grin on Eros’ face grows wider. It makes him feel good, to know that he’s wanted back here, even if Riley isn’t explicitly saying that. Even if it’s just because Eros earns him a lot of money, it feels...good, to be wanted by someone, for something. “You don’t have to lie to me,” He teases, easily falling back into their routine of light banter and scathing commentary. “I know when I’m missed,”

They open in half an hour and his boss is quick to try to usher him backstage to set up. There’s something he’s noticed though, the glass on the floor. Riley hasn’t made an effort to pick it up. Whatever, maybe it’s some weird pride thing and Eros does look towards the stage with every intention of going but, he doesn’t. He likes a bottle of water with him on stage - no alcohol until he’s 100% healed, or it’ll ruin his voice. That’s why he turns back, and see’s -

Riley’s hurt. Someone’s hurt him or, he’s hurt himself. That’s why the empty glass was left because it hurts to bend down, and he didn’t want to betray his weakness. Eros understands that he did the same. It does something funny to him, seeing that pretty face scrunched in pain, if only for a second. He wants to...stop that. Make it better. Hazel eyes meet his own chocolate brown, and he feels like he’s seen something he shouldn’t.

“I was just gonna - ask for a bottle of water but I can get it myself,” He reassures just so the other doesn’t have to strain himself by moving. “Are-are you okay? Need some ice for that - don’t. Let me,” Eros won’t hear any complaints nor objections, he’s already jumping behind the bar and wrapping some ice in a rag to put on whatever’s causing Riley pain. “Press it on. I could do it for you? I’ll be gentle,” He’s not aware that he’s overwhelming the other at all. Eros just...needs to help. Needs to make Riley ok.

–

A month passes but that’s alright, Riley expected this. Eros was sick and he knew he’d need time to heal. He let him, checked up on him more than he felt necessary and continued work and business as usual. He saved a performance spot for him, even if it was just to play the piano. 

Because you’re a fucking sap, his brain provides for him helpfully. 

And maybe he is, or maybe he just knows money making talent when he sees it–and the prospect that Eros will get well enough to sing again, to perform as he used to, will draw a crowd like none of his other performers. He tells himself that’s the reason…because no other reason is worth it. 

It can’t be. 

Eventually Riley stops checking up on him because he knows he fucking shouldn’t be and…and he has shit to do. If Eros wants to come and see him when he’s better then so be it–he knows where the club is. Besides, Riley’s run into some unsavory people that insist on fucking with him because of his last name. 

It happens every so often and it’s a test from his father, he knows it. He has to deal with people who won’t take no for an answer when it comes to dealings that they want to conduct using his club. Making lucrative money has always been a passion of his–but he wants to come by it honestly, he refuses to let terrible people make drug and gun deals using his club as a sanctuary or business spot. And in hindsight–he probably shouldn’t have told the guy to ‘go fuck his mother’.

So now, on top of a busy night in the club, he’s got two fractured ribs to deal with. These guys are meticulous, they never hit him where people could see but its just enough to make breathing and minor tasks difficult. 

“Do you want more ice?” Kenny asks and Riley tries not to bite his head off as he cleans shot glasses but…

“No, I want you to do your job. We need more vodka, go to the back.” He stares at him a moment. “Now.” 

Kenny sighs and throws his towel on the bar before doing as he’s asked, Riley reaching for the whiskey with a shaking hand before pouring himself a shot. He closes his eyes as the front door opens with a bang–must be the performer. He doesn’t look up as he washes the shot glass and starts to fill cocktail napkins. 

“Stage is through the back door to the right.” 

It takes Eros a long time to properly heal up. His bills are mysteriously paid, or at least he gets no more letters from his landlord due to some unknown reason. He won’t bring it up, not now, not ever. It’s an unspoken gesture, he knows this. Medication is delivered when he runs out, he’s looked after very well by someone keeping themselves at an arms distance.

They still text though, him and Riley. It’s just superficial stuff, making sure Eros is getting enough rest and fluids, not ruining his voice any more and reminding him of an open slot that will forever have his name on it. Sometimes though, it isn’t. It’s just what are you having for dinner? and do u like oprah? and if i were a dog what dog would i be?. silly, almost friendly stuff. It makes Eros smile and feels a little better, the buzz of a phone in his otherwise empty apartment.

And then it quietens down, becomes less frequent, grinds to a halt. The lifeline to something else is gone, and that pushes Eros to start practising again. He’s well enough to cut hair, why not sing? A few of the higher notes are still unattainable but lower songs, the Elvis and the Elton John’s, are pretty on point. Eventually, Eros decides to go for a gig and promises to not fuck it up. For himself, and for Riley’s reputation. He books in with some girl at the bar over the phone, it’ll be fun to surprise his favourite boss. 

He even dresses nice, trims his hair and slicks it back with gel - though it still pops up. Shrugs on tight jeans and a red shirt with a snakeskin print blazer. Eros wants to make an entrance, to show everyone that he’s back, and ready to do business.

To show Riley that he’s okay, that he helped, and that he’s thankful for everything. That’s important to.

Walking over to the bar with his usual confident swagger, he see’s Riley cleaning glass, leaning on his side as he does. “Is that any way to greet a professional?” Eros teases with a grin, coming up beside him. Something is...a little off, though. He can tell with the body language. “Come on Riles, I know you missed me,”

Riley grits his teeth and resists the urge to push Eros off and go back downstairs, run out the front door and go across the city. Just to get some distance. Just to breathe in the cool, night air and clear his head and remind himself about exactly why he doesn’t get into situations like this. 

It’s too late though, he knows that. Not just about this, about Eros sick on his couch but the fact that he got his doctor involved, that he’s thinking about forwarding Eros some money he doesn’t deserve while he recovers, that he’ll hold his job for him some way…even if it’s about playing the piano instead of singing. 

He should have kicked him out the moment he realized he fucked up his night. 

Now he’s pressed against him, warm and solid despite saying he’s cold. Fuck. He’s so fucked. 

He lets Eros rest against him because he isn’t sure what else he can do…he apparently can’t pull away because he’s been trying to talk himself out of this situation since the first time he met Eros. Since the first time he fucked him against his desk feet away from them both. 

He closes his eyes and assesses damage control and…Riley comes to the conclusion that he might as well do what he wants. He can blame it on the fact that Eros is feverish and sick and won’t remember this anyways. He can get better and they can go back to being business partners. 

Despite ever fiber in his being telling him not to, Riley relents. 

He strokes the back of Eros’ neck as he rests against his shoulder and pushes him to lie down. He stands and sits on the couch, putting a pillow on his thighs. “Come on, lay down.” He waits until Eros’s head hits the pillow and draws the blankets close around his shoulders, stroking his arm. 

“Just gotta warm you up, you need to sleep. You’ll feel less whiny when you wake up.”

Today has been strange, so many things have happened in such a short space of time, Eros’ brain fog makes it hard to decide whether or not they’re good, or bad, neither or both. Riley will pay him, Riley will make sure there’s a job for him when he gets better, he’s brought in a doctor so he doesn’t have to pay out for something he can’t afford. Tears well behind his yes but, he swallows them all down. Crying is just going to make things more awkward when he’s back to being his loud, proud self.

Nobody has done thing like this before. All people have ever done is take advantage of Eros, his odd naiievitity, his charms and good looks. Yet, Riley...isn’t. They have sex, yeah, hate eachothers guts out on occsion but, it isn’t the same as those times before.

Underneath the gruff exterior of a gang leaders son and ruthless business owner, Riley is kind. There are so few people like that around. Eros believes that, anyways.

Hands push him off and guide him gently to lean back on the couch and he watches as he grabs a pillow and places it on his - oh. Riley is inviting him to lay down on him. It’s intimate in a way they haven’t been before. Sex is messy, it doesn’t have to be about feelings or comfort. It’s rough, and hard, and about self-satisfaction.

This isn’t.

Come lay down. So he does, lays his head down on the pillow and feels Riley’s warmth seeping through and warming his cold bones. He smells good to, faintly of alcohol and much more of his cologne. It’s comforting in ways Eros can’t describe right now, he he nuzzles the soft material under him. He’s even tucked in of a sorts, a careful hand tracing up his arm.

“Thankyou,” Eros says quietly, eyes flickering shut. “For everything. You’re - you’e very good, to do this for me,”

And then, he’s out like a light.

The moment Riley realizes that Eros is gorgeous, regardless of being incredibly sick on his couch in his office, is the moment he should have left. He knows better than this, even before, even when he was trying to figure out how to leave his ex. It never ended well, being an Anderson, even for Victor who was so desperate for their father’s approval, to take his place, it didn’t matter. 

It was bad luck to be an Anderson. 

While Victor was destined it seemed to pine over his brother and never quite reach the light in their father’s eyes, Riley is doomed to fall in love with boys he shouldn’t and somehow be their downfall. 

He’s not listening Eros, not completely anyways, the boy is rambling despite the fact the doc has told him not to talk. Something about losing his apartment and fucking everything up for himself and Riley has to bite his tongue on being insensitive. 

“Shit happens,” He tells him, licks his lips with a gentle shrug. “People get sick, you can’t help it. Only thing you can do now is follow directions, take time off, take your meds and get better.” 

Riley settles against the coffee table he’s sitting on, watching Eros fall in between sleep and consciousness on his couch. Doctor should be back any time now with those meds. 

“If you’re talking about fucking this gig up then, no, you didn’t. I’m pissed I had to give away free drinks at my bar but…” He trails off a moment and shrugs. “You didn’t fuck up too royally. This job will be here when you get better.” 

Is he promising to hold his spot for him? He’s not sure what to make of that. He hates that he sounds like a schoolgirl with a crush and he really hates that his fingers brush the top of Eros’ hair in a comforting gesture as the doctor comes back in.

He stands from the coffee table and takes the meds from the doc. “Label has instructions. Call me if he starts spitting up blood.”

Riley eyes him over the bottle. “He better not or I’ll have your hands as a desk ornament.” He smiles when he says it but it doesn’t make it any less threatening. “Ta.” He waves him off before getting a glass of water, pulling Eros into a sitting position. “I know,” He says as he whines. “Come on, sooner you take these, sooner you’ll start feeling better.”

If he had the energy, he’d explode at Riley for just saying shit happens. Eros would chew him up, and spit him out for wanting just a shred of sympathy, a sliver of comfort. Eros feels so cold, even with the blanket wrapped around him and wants someone to sit next to him and just hold him.

That’s not going to happen here though. Eros has to correct his thinking. He will never get that from Riley. He’ll never get anything from him like that. They’re just - they fuck sometimes, and Riley is his sometime employer. Instead, he chews his lip hard and stays silent, drinking the tea. It’s not sweet enough for him, or maybe that’s his attitude problem that’s souring it.

“If I get better,” Again, there are fingers in his hair and he’s too tired to stop himself from leaning into the small amount of contact. He’s got medication and needs to contact this...mystery doctor if he spits up blood. Eros doesn’t know if he should mention he’s been coughing it up all day, he doesn’t want to piss Riley off further and be more in his debt than he already is.

There are hands on his arms, tugging him because now he needs to take the meds and get better. Take a few days off, it’s all so stressful he wants to cry and fade away at the moment. Eros makes a noise of protest as he sits up, swaying slightly and he steadies himself by placing shaking hands on Riley’s thighs.

He’s too tired to do this right now and once he’s taken two of them he leans forward and rests his face in the other’s shoulder. “Tired,” Eros admits, still using short sentences. “I’m so tired and cold,”

Riley has no interest in staying; in fact, he tries to make his way out of his office as fast as he can. He has shit to do, he has a club to run and this…Eros is not his concern. They’re barely friends and they’ve fucked a few times…so what? He’s not his boyfriend. Fucking and kissing and biting and sucking does not translate into some sort of meaningful connection. 

And yet…Eros stirs and reaches for him.

He knows that as soon as those cold fingers close around his wrist that he’s not going anywhere. He knows, deep down despite not wanting to admit it, that his club will run just fine without him downstairs for one night. The bar will keep moving, the waitresses will deliver food without hiccups, the bouncer will keep the assholes out and the paying customers in. 

He’s not needed. 

Riley just wants to run because that’s his gut reaction. Being this close to Eros when he’s in need isn’t good for anyone. Especially him; he’s told this singer time and time again what it meant to get close to him. 

One of these days Eros is going to die and it’s going to be because Riley couldn’t push him away like he needs to. He can see the entire situation play out before his eyes, can see the white film over Eros’ beautiful eyes and a blue tint to those plump, pink lips. 

He’s going to die but…today isn’t that day. 

Don’t leave me here. 

Riley’s heart tugs painfully in his chest at seeing him scared, almost to the point where he wants to push him away and snap you have no idea what being scared looks like but doesn’t. 

Instead he sighs and nods and guides him to sit. “Lay down before you fall down.” 

His physician works on him for a few moments before making a few noises and grunts, “He’s got laryngitis alright, pretty bad. He shouldn’t talk and I can get him a few anti-inflammatories. Other than that, it’s just a coin toss. He won’t know if he ruined his vocal chords until the swelling goes down.” 

Riley sighs and hands Eros the tea that he didn’t drink earlier. “Alright, get the drugs. I expect them to be here within the next half hour.” 

The doctor gives a curt nod and disappears, Riley sitting on the coffee table to give Eros a look. “Don’t talk, doctors orders.” He smirks a little, running his hand through his hair. “You’re going to be fine.” 

To his surprise, Riley...stays. Eros didn’t expect that, and Riley tells him to lay down before he falls over. Even goes as far too gently taking his arm and helping him back down before he chokes on another coughing fit. He actually does what he’s told and when the doctor is finished checking his tonsils, shifts to lay down. Eros is still tired, eyes half-lidded as he watches the world go by.

Bad laryngitis. Not tonsilitis, just it’s bastard, evil cousin. Eros can’t talk, which means he still can’t go to the salon and interact with potential customers or sing to earn extra money on the side. Tears well behind his eyes but he forces them back down, stomps on the fear and worry. Can he sell his couch? Or anything? Suits, shoes maybe. His body? Would Riley slap him if he asked for cash for his ass?

And, to top it off, he might’ve ruined his vocal chords. Riley hands him the now-cooling tea from earlier and he sips at it. It doesn’t soothe his throat, only makes it ache more. Eros turns on the couch so he isn’t facing either of them as they talk, scared he’ll start crying in front of two strangers. 

Because really, he’s been fucked twice by Riley and yet knows nothing about him beyond the basics.

You’re going to be fine. The younger laughs, harsh and throaty sounding and he coughs after, drinking more to try to stop the splutters. No, he isn’t going to be fine. “Ruined...my life,” He tries to explain with a limited set of words. It’s hard to disguise the genuine anguish in his voice. “Ruined everything,”

When Riley comes back with the tea, Eros is already asleep. Shocking. He sighs and sets the tea down in front of him in case he wakes up; he’s got a club to run after all. He can’t babysit him. He licks his lips and watches him for a moment; it feels like forever. He can’t, for some reason, will his feet to move. 

Instead, his body decides things on its own–reaches his hand out and tenderly brushes his fingers through Eros’ hair, just the little tuff up top. Once his brain catches up with his limbs, his hand shoots back as if he’s touched a hot stovetop. He runs that same hand over his face before standing, the a swift knock at the door indicating that his physician is here. 

He opens it and Dr. Roberts comes in swiftly, glancing from Eros to Riley and makes a soft tsking noise. 

“Don’t ask.” Riley snaps. 

“Think he has laryngitis, better not be fucking TB, I’ll be pissed.” He sighs and crosses his arms over his chest. 

“I’ve got this Mr. Anderson, have a degree and everything.” He says calmly as he lifts Eros’ chin. 

That’s his cue to leave and once again his legs have trouble moving. Not that he doesn’t trust this doctor, he does, with his very life– he’s saved him from the brink many times and he’s easy to pay to be on-call. But still…

part of Riley wants to stay with Eros. And he knows those feelings have to be crushed immediately. He clears his throat and goes to go downstairs. 

“Call me if you need anything,” before leaving. 

It’s the feeling of fingers gently running through his hair, then pulling away just as quick that stirs Eros from his short nap. Everything feels just as worse as before, and he is quick to pull the blanket up to his neck once the physician comes in. He doesn’t like the noise he makes like there’s something wrong here. Both of them are lucky he can’t find the energy to chew them both out for it. If he had that energy, he wouldn’t be here, on the couch.

There’s a hand touching his chin, forcing his face upwards and he resists the urge to tug away and spit like an angry cat. Eros is so tired, he just wants to sleep on this comfy couch with this scratchy throw that smells vaguely of Riley. He opens his mouth for the doctor, tongue flat as a flashlight is put down there, and then gloved fingers check out his glands. Riley is moving, going and -  

“No,” Eros forces out, voice rough and no longer sounding as smooth as good scotch. “No. Don’t,” It’s hard to form full sentences without the urge to cough himself to tears but he looks at Riley. Really looks at him too, with pleading, vulnerable-looking eyes because he doesn’t want to be left along with this unfamiliar man. Eros even tries to get up ( though he doesn’t get too far ), and go over to him. Instead, he settles for moving and grabbing the other’s hand when he hesitates to leave.

“Stay. Please. Scared,” There’s some raw about Eros like this, someone terrified of losing their voice. It’s all he has, and nobody can understand that. Similarly, Riley is all he has. The closest thing to a friend he’s come close to in a while and Eros knows beneath the hard-boiled and angry exterior he cares. He wouldn’t be doing this if he didn’t care.

“Don’t leave me here,”

“I would have fucking understood, you little shit, if you would have texted me and told me.” He snaps, voice loud and irritated and he takes a moment to close his eyes and breathe before he does something stupid and smacks Eros across his face for being a dumbass. 

When he counts to five, he lets go of Eros’s arm and runs a hand through his curls. He makes sure his anger is in check for the most part before he speaks again. 

“You think I don’t understand what it’s like to not have money? When I told my father I didn’t want the empire from him he thought tough love was the way to go, cut me off from my family funds. I lived in a shitty apartment for years before I built my name back up.” 

Sure, his last name of Anderson helped but he earned everything he has today: his lavish apartment, his club, his reputation–that’s all his and no one can take that away from him. 

Riley sighs and grits his teeth as Eros nearly collapses and while Eros is taller, Riley has more energy than him right now and is able to catch him before he tumbles to the ground. 

“Pain in my ass.” Riley grits out and he hates how fond it almost sounds as he drags him upstairs to his office. 

He sets Eros down on the couch and licks his lips, moving to his office phone before dialing one number. 

“I need you.” Is all he says before he hangs up. 

He pushes Eros to lie down and takes his shoes off before putting a blanket over his shoulders. 

“My physician will be here in ten minutes. I’ll make you some tea.” He moves towards his door. “Try not to die on me or ruin any more of my night’s profit between now and then.” 

He goes to make another scathing remark about how he doesn’t give a shit but, it gets lodged in his throat and Eros doubles over as he coughs. It echoes in his throat and he chokes on it, mouth filling with the coppery taste of blood. It takes him a while to catch his breath after, and by then Riley is already helping prop him up so he doesn’t collapse. Eros feels tired, the bone-deep ache that comes from being sick.

He isn’t sure how they make it upstairs, but they do - he’s got the height and a few pounds on Riley from it too. But they do, to the little office where they first fucked against the desk. Eros swears he can feel the wood biting into his skin again but is too tired to make a remark. Instead, he lets himself be handled, set down onto the plush leather couch. Leaning back, he sighs out and tries to catch his breath again, throat restricting every time he takes a lungful of air.

What if his throat is permanently damaged? No more club, no more big dreams. He’ll live and die working in that shitty hairdressers unless he manages to bag a sugar daddy. Eros tries to punch the emotion, the fear down inside him yet it still threatens to overwhelm him. He thinks this is laryngitis. What if he needs an operation? Even if his insurance covered half of it, how would he foot the bill?

It’s this sickness. Riley tells him not to die as he goes to make him some tea and he brings the blanket over himself, tucking his legs in and trying to make himself smaller. It smells of him, whatever cologne Riley uses. It’s comforting, he likes it. In the small amount of time Riley is gone, Eros clocks out of consciousness - either sleeping or passed out.

It takes Riley one performance to realize what’s going on. Riley likes to think of himself as someone who notices details, someone who reads between the lines and realizes that he’s going to get fucked before it actually happens. And it surprises him how good of an actor Eros is, that Riley could tell something was off but couldn’t put his finger on it before he performed. 

Eros is sick. 

He’s sick and this little shit decides to come to work anyways and fuck up his night performances. 

“Fucking Christ,” Riley mutters before running up on stage. Would it really kill Eros to take a night off and take care of himself. He’s fuming but smiles anyways, all charm and gentle gestures. “Sorry about that folks. Please help yourself to a free drink at the bar.” 

He hops off the stage and yanks a girl from waitressing to play the piano so there’s at least some life-action performance for tonight. Now he’ll have to pay her and he’s given away free drinks. He’s ready to wring Eros’s neck at how much money he’s losing out on tonight. 

Would it really have taken him much to call in sick? Like an adult? Instead of being selfish and showing up under the guise of doing okay and fucking up his night? 

He rushes to the back and just before Eros can leave he grabs his arm and yanks him back into the dressing room. 

“Uh-uh, you don’t get to run away after pulling that. Do you have any idea how much money I’ve lost from your little stunt? Was it really so hard to call me and handle your business deals as an adult to take the night off?”

He doesn’t mean to sound so harsh, he gets being sick. But Eros doesn’t understand how much he has riding on every night his club is open. Not just other competing clubs, he pulls out ahead every time–mostly because of his last name but also because he does have a nice place with good food, drinks and performances. 

It’s not only that, but every minute he doesn’t take account of how this is going is one moment Victor or his father could swoop in and pull the rug out from under him. And that’s just something he can never afford. 

He doesn’t get chance to escape, as soon as his Uber is booked and he’s ready to fly out of the door and never show his face again Riley catches him. Grabs his arm and drags him back inside. Eros knows who Riley is, what he does. He’ll never work again, that little dream will have to be put in a bottle at the back of the shelf. It’ll never see the light of day again unless he decides to move city or state.

Riley is pissed too. Yelling at him, and Eros is getting irritated. He’s got a headache and his throat hurts and he’s praying he’s not permanently fucked up his voice. Without it, he’s got nothing. He’s just a hairdresser, scraping by and fucking guys from Grindr on the side.

“Don’t...yell at me,“ He manages to gasp out, pulling himself out of the other’s grasp. It hurts to breathe, his chest feels as if someone is sitting on it and beads of sweat roll down his temples. Eros fees worse the more tie he spends here, he needs to go home now. Take the night off and what, suffer another day of no wages? He grits his teeth and tries to find some of his voice.

“Needed the money. Haven’t been at work all week. Bills coming out. You wouldn’t fucking understand that,“

Even sick, he manages to bite back. Eros will not be treated like a child, or a bad person, for trying to get by. What’s a loss of $300 or more dollars for Riley fucking Anderson anyways? He’s got Franklin’s lining his pockets and the soles of his shoes with his father’s business’. 

“I need to go home,” His eyes keep losing focus. Is he burning up? Eros can’t tell, and he grabs for the door, trying to leave again.