An old woman opened the door with a creak, her curious eyes peering over her small-framed glasses and half of her fragile body hidden behind the partly opened door. “How may I help you?” she asked Tony, staring at him up and down. Tony still embodied a messy and dreadful appearance. She squinted her eyes at him, wondering if that really was dried blood on the side of his head, simultaneously wondering who this boy was and if he was even sane.

Tony had managed to get out of his house and stumble over to this neighboring one. He wasn’t sure if this was the right one, though.

“Er, uh, is, um, Vic here?” Tony stammered, pretty sure that he had maneuvered his way to the wrong house.

“I’m sorry, child; if you’re asking about Vic Fuentes, he lives two houses down,” she said, pointing in the direction of Tony’s house. Fuck, Tony thought, pained to see that he had to walk all of the way back there.

“Oh,” he said lowly. “Er, sorry. Thanks,” he said, turning away.

“Do you need anything sweetheart?” she asked in a friendly tone, half of her hoping that the scary-looking young man would leave her alone, but the other half of her wanting to help the clearly troubled soul.

Tony didn’t want to be rude to the considerate woman, so he turned around to speak to her. “No, thank you,” he said as confidentially as possible. Then, he made his way over to Vic’s house. It took him a good five minutes for him to get there—Tony wasn’t drunk, but he had a feeling that this hang over was going to last a lifetime.

At last, Tony finally dragged himself up Vic’s front steps. He knocked lightly, insecurities racing through his head. He didn’t know what to say when—or if—Vic opened the door. He didn’t know what exactly brought him here. He didn’t even know if Vic would be home or willing to talk to him.

Just as he predicted, the door didn’t open. A wave of devastation hit Tony squarely in the chest. He just needed someone to talk to, and he silently wished that he didn’t slam the door in Vic’s face the day prior.

“Tony?” Tony jerked his head up when he heard someone call his name. His face flushed a light shade of pink when he realized that he had passed out on Vic’s front porch, and there stood Vic, standing over him with bags in his hand and confusion etched on his features. “Are you, uh, okay?” Vic asked warily, unsure as to why he came home to find his disturbed neighbor curled up on his front steps.

“Not really,” Tony mumbled, but Vic didn’t hear him. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to pass out here,” Tony apologized, still feeling embarrassed.

“Er, it’s alright, Tony,” Vic said reassuringly. As he spoke he fumbled around for his house key, whilst never looking away from the small lump on the ground. Vic furrowed his eyebrows, wondering how old Tony was. He seemed so young, and he looked so little, but he also looked so broken. He is definitely an alcoholic, Vic figured, but this thought troubled him; Tony looked too young to be an alcoholic already, so Vic corrected his previous thought, assuming that he was just in a very bad place. He wondered what was wrong with him though, because, still, he was so young—how could he have enough life experience to be so troubled?

Vic shook this thought out of his head too. He had no right to assume anything about Tony’s character. Besides, Vic thought. I was much younger than him when I, myself, didn’t see the point in living life…

Ashamed for thinking these things, Vic looked down at Tony, holding out a hand. Tony felt embarrassed again for being so weak, but he accepted the arm and pulled himself up. “Thanks,” he muttered under his breath, shifting uncomfortably on his feet.

“Would you like to come inside?” Vic asked, raising an eyebrow. He still had no clue why Tony was here, and Tony still had no clue was he was there, either.

“Er, sure, I guess,” Tony said awkwardly. Vic unlocked his door and walked inside, placing his bags onto the counter. Tony trailed behind him, taking in the fresh smell of Vic’s house. His was a lot neater than the mess that Tony lived in.

“Tony, how old are you?” Vic asked suddenly, unable to contain his curiosity. He also wanted to spark up a conversation, hoping that he could figure out what Tony was all about in the process. He felt awkward, though, because the last time Vic saw Tony, Tony was wasted and sick, and he had slammed the door shut in Vic’s face. Vic wanted to help Tony with whatever his problems were because he knew how it felt to feel alone.

“Twenty-one,” Tony said lowly, feeling rather ashamed of his youngness. He could practically fell Vic judging him. Hm, Vic thought. Barely the drinking age and already using alcohol to wash away problems?

“Oh, so do you go to school?” Vic asked, realizing that twenty-one was the age that most people were in college. Not Vic, though. He had dropped out early to pursue his music career with his brother, Mike. They had already released one album, A Flair For The Dramatic, under the band name “Pierce the Veil”, but they had made the album with a label company independently with no official guitarist or bassist—it was just them two. Things were looking up, though, for Mike might have found a bassist that could perform with them. For now, they were stuck with Vic being the singer and lead guitarist. He didn’t really mind, though—he liked it, actually. He desired to become big in the music industry, and if this was the path to their goals, then so be it.

“No,” Tony said, feeling slightly ashamed at this fact. He never went to college; it just wasn’t for him.

“Oh, that’s okay,” Vic said, sensing Tony’s feelings. “I dropped out,” he added, shrugging his shoulders and not wanting to go in depth with the topic.

“Oh,” Tony said, relieved to know that he wasn't the only one. “How old are you?” Tony reciprocated Vic’s prior question.

“Twenty-four,” Vic said. Tony nodded, not really knowing what else to add to the conversation. Tony enjoyed the company thought. Maybe that was what brought him over her to Vic’s house; maybe he just needed company. He had spent weeks cooped up in his house drunk, depressed, and even suicidal, but now he felt a little better knowing that Vic was welcoming. He did, however, consider the fact that Vic probably just pitied him.

“So,” Vic began, putting away the few groceries that he had brought home. “Do you want anything? Water? Food?” Vic asked. He hoped Tony didn’t think he was just being charitable; Vic had a feeling that Tony needed a friend, and Vic didn’t mind being that friend for him. In fact, he wanted to be that friend. He knew what it felt like to not have anyone, and he wasn’t about to let this Tony kid go down alone. In a way, Vic felt responsible for Tony, like he was obligated to help him.

“Uh,” Tony stammered, feeling awkward once again. He then realized how dry his mouth was, and he subconsciously touched his chapped lips with his fingers.

“I’ll make you some water,” Vic offered, noticing Tony’s actions.

“Thanks,” Tony mumbled. He wished he could sound more appreciative, but his head was throbbing. “Do you, uh, do you have Advil or something? Or Excedrin? Or anything?” Tony asked before he could stop himself.

Vic looked at Tony sympathetically. “Of course,” he said, taking out two painkillers and handing them over to Tony, along with a glass of water.

Vic noticed how sick Tony looked; Tony’s eyes were partly blood shot, his hair was matted, and his face was sunken in. Vic decided to cut the sugar-coated conversation and be direct with Tony. “Do you think you need stitches?” Vic eyed the dried blood on Tony’s head. Tony shook his head, shame filling his veins. “What happened?” Vic asked softly, his curiosity prevailing once again.

“Passed out,” Tony mumbled, surprised that he didn’t lie to Vic about what happened.

“Oh,” Vic nodded knowingly. “Tony, do you mind me asking…” Vic began, but his voice trailed off at the end. As he spoke, Tony’s features twisted in pain and sadness, so he didn’t want to press. “Never mind,” Vic said quickly, and Tony’s face immediately relaxed.

Tony looked down sadly, though. He didn’t know what else to say or do, and he was about to just get up and leave until he felt a strong hand on his shoulder.

“It’s okay, Tony. You don’t have to tell me why or what happened. This is your cry for help,” Vic said softly, understanding laced in his words. And Vic was absolutely right. Tony was sick of moping around and not accomplishing anything. He didn’t want to waste his life away, despite the fact that a big part of his life had walked away from him, leaving him with an infected cavity in his chest.

Tony didn’t know what led him to come here, or if Vic—or anybody—would even be able to help him, but he did know one thing for sure: this was his cry for help.

And he sure was going to need a lot of it if he wanted to turn his life back around.

Notes

Another short one, and it's also kind of a filler chapter. But it does have some good background
Now that Tony has officially decided to 'sober up' and somehow use Vic's help, what's going to happen next?
Where should Tony even begin?