02

tw: eating issues, alcohol/weed, emetophobia

Caesar comes to with the most splitting headache he’s had since his senior prom roofie-hangover.

He groans, grabbing the nearest pillow and covering his face with it, absolutely desperate to block out the hot Floridian sunlight streaming through his bedroom window. Hell. He’s already in hell, and he hasn’t even remembered what happened last night--

Oh, good fucking lord, last night.

Caesar groans again. Wonderful. Fantastic.

Caesar wallows for a moment before sucking it up and tugging the pillow off of his face. he needs… something. Someone to complain to, preferably. Sighing, he sits up, digging through his pockets for a moment to find his phone-- 2% battery. Great. This day’s really out to get him, huh? Not like he wanted to eat breakfast, though, so he deals and plugs it in before shooting a text to dear old Xana.

i fucked up

can you come over

Caesar sits on the edge of his bed, bouncing his leg as he waits for a reply.

What’d you do babe

Omw

Oh, thank god. Caesar leaves her on read for now, standing and making the terrible mistake of catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror hung above his dresser. He looks about as shit as he feels. Paler than usual, blonde hair knotted and looking like he’s just gone on a week-long bender, bags under dull green eyes-- he needs a shower. Is there enough time to do that before Xana gets here? Absolutely not, so Caesar sighs and resigns himself to heading to the bathroom and running a brush through his hair. More staring into the mirror, but at least now he’s doing something about his wretched appearance.

He’s about to brush his teeth when his stomach lurches and he’s huddled over the toilet. Of course-- Caesar would’ve thought his body would be used to vomiting by now, but it’s something different when you’re not doing it to yourself, isn’t it?

Now Caesar definitely needs a shower, but there’s no way he can before Xana gets there. Brush your teeth, get some coffee, put on a clean shirt. Be presentable for the girl.

Caesar’s only half way through waiting for his coffee when Xana, in all her short-and-buff glory, comes bursting in through his front door, clearly a bit frazzled. “What’d you do, niño? Do I need to bail you out?”

Caesar starts and then gives a quiet laugh. “No, it’s nothing legal, uh. Jordan--” Xana rolls her eyes, “...Jordan’s wife saw us. Uh, she--”

Xana gasps. “Caesar, baby, we have talked about that! I thought you broke it off with him.” The disappointment in her voice is enough to make Caesar curl up in on himself.

“I know, Xana! I know. And you were right. She was not happy, Xana, she--” Caesar cuts himself off with a shocked little laught. “She threatened to kill me, Xan.”

Xana’s disappointment turns to shock. “Did she hurt you, niño? Do I have to throw hands?”

“No, Xan, I can’t really say she was wrong--”

Caesar’s cut off by Xana waltzing over to him and grabbing his face, tugging him down to her level. “You were an asshole. We both know this. But she threatened you.” She lets go of Caesar, bringing her hands to her hips. “Were you drunk last night?” Caesar blinks. “Don’t play dumb with me, niño, I know your hungover look.”

Caesar’s face goes red(der). “A bit--”

“We’re going out for breakfast. Denny's, I’m paying, and you will eat.” Xana’s tone is firm enough that Caesar doesn’t even bother arguing.

“Fine,” he says, straightening up his posture a bit. “Do I at least have time to get into clean clothes?”

Xana quirks a brow and looks Caesar over. “...You’d better,” she says with the smallest hint of disappointment-- in the outfit, Caesar knows, but it still hurts to hear from her. “Mm-- wear that red flannel! The one I like.” With that, Xana gives Caesar a little pat on the cheek and turns to dump his coffee. He was really looking forward to that, but he supposes Denny's coffee is better than shitty canned coffee, and breakfast Xana’s paying for is better than no breakfast at all. ...Debatably.

_____

As soon as Caesar gets in the passenger seat of Xana’s little beater sports car, he’s being handed a bottle of Aspirin. “Take three,” Xana mutters, “there’s water in the back.”

Caesar very reluctantly does this, almost gagging at the lovely Florida-warmed bottle of water he snatched from the back seat. Gross. Gross, gross, gross-- back in Maine, he’d never have to worry about plastic melting in his car, but here is quite a different story. He learned that the hard way about three months ago, when he had mistakenly left his favorite little plastic charm on his dash over the weekend. He still hasn’t gotten the smell of it out of the leather.

“Ever thought about getting a cooler?” he huffs, returning the cap to the bottle. “Tastes like lead when it’s warm.”

“Oh, poor baby’s too good for warm water,” Xana coos with a grin. “If you want cold water, you should’ve brought your own. Regardless, though, we’ll get you all the cold water you want in a minute. Patience is key, kiddo.”

“We’re the same age.”

“I’m still a month older and I will die on this hill.”

This gets a laugh out of Caesar. It’s nice to know that he can still joke with Xana, even when she’s upset with slash disappointed in him.

After a moment of driving in silence, fighting the early-morning Miami traffic, Caesar spares Xana a glance. “Thanks for coming over.”

Xana doesn’t return the glance, but she does offer a smile. “Of course. What’re friends for, you know? What kind of person would I be if I just left you?”

Caesar huffs and smiles a bit. “Thank you. I mean it.”

“No problem, Caesar.”

The rest of the drive is quiet. It would be awkward, if Caesar paid any mind to the silence, but instead, it’s filled with his overthinking. Would Mindy actually hurt me? Will Jordan text me? Will he forgive me? Will Mindy forgive me? Will I get to see Jax again?

Caesar’s snapped out of his thoughts… Quite literally, when Xana holds her hand in front of his face and snaps. “We’re here. C’mon, stringbean, mama’s gotta get her hashbrowns.”

Caesar gives a startled little laugh before getting out and following Xana in. “I’m not--”

“You’re not hungry, I know. You’re still eating, though, so help me god. You need some meat on your bones, niño! You’ll blow over in the wind otherwise!”

Caesar bites his lip. “Okay, but--”

“I won’t look at you. I know the drill, kiddo.”

For someone who’s only known Caesar for three months, Xana sure does… Know him. Either he got way too stoned one evening and told her everything or she’s just really good at picking up on his body language; either way, Caesar’s more than grateful to have her around.

He’s quiet as Xana leads him in and gets them seated, eyes cast straight ahead and hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans. He very much doesn’t want to be here, and he knows that Xana knows that-- but Caesar also knows that Xana knows he hasn’t eaten in two days.

They sit, and Caesar knows immediately he’s about to be grilled over every little thing that happened last night.

“Booze and weed?” Yes. “How much?” Way too much. “How late was it?” Way too late. “Halloween party?” Quite unfortunately. “Ready for school tomorrow?” Wait, fuck.

Caesar groans, resting his face in his hands. “I’d rather fucking die.”

Xana purses her lips. “Too bad, baby, you gotta get those credits.”

“Do I? Do I really?” Caesar peeks out at Xana through his fingers.

“Do you? Do you wanna be a neurosurgeon?” Her brows are raised in that ‘don’t bullshit me’ way Caesar’s grown to love and hate.

Caesar huffs. “Yeah, but is spending most of my twenties in the hellscape that is med school worth it?”

“I dunno, is six figures worth it?”

Caesar presses his lips together. It is, to him, and both he and Xana know that. “You’re right… Especially since Nielson loses his shit over attendance.”

Xana laughs. “Right? He’s fucking insane about that. You’re thirty seconds late and he, like, publicly executes you.”

“God, I know. I feel so bad for those kids-- if I’m gonna be late, I just stay home. Better than being shouted at in front of a hundred other kids,” Caesar says with an amused little huff.

Xana snorts. “Right. So, anyway--”

“Xan, I don’t wanna talk about Jordan anymore. Please.” He seems almost desperate with that little whine in his voice.

Xana gives him that same ‘don’t bullshit me’ look. “I was gonna say, you need a real boyfriend instead of some sad sack of shit who goes behind his girl’s back. Oh, also someone who isn’t ten years older than you.”

“Eight.”

“That’s still bad, Caesar!” Xana pulls her coily hair back away from her face, exasperated. “He has a kid, dude. He has a full time job! He has so much power over you!”

Caesar groans, again hiding his face in his hands. “I know. I know, I- I- I think that’s why I liked him so much in the first place.” Desolate.

Xana sighs, brow furrowing as she goes to put a hand on Caesar’s shoulder. “Well, good news. Mindy? Your get-out-of-Jordan free card. Now? Now you can fix your shit and find a real boyfriend and actually focus on your work, baby.”

Caesar sighs. “...Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. School is important, and Jordan was… Distracting.”

“Distracting is an understatement, stringbean, but you’re right-- are you ready to order?”

Oh. Right. Food. Restaurant. Fucking Denny’s of all places… “Uh. Right, yeah… A hashbrown?”

“And?”

“...French toast?”

“Throw in an egg and we have a deal.”

“Replace the toast with the egg and I’ll be happy.”

Xana narrows her eyes. “...You got a deal.” She offers Caesar a hand and he shakes it, offering a genuine grin.

Caesar likes this about Xana. She worries for him, obviously, and wants to help, but she doesn’t push as much as others would. She’s told him straight up that she’ll never force him to do anything, and Caesar has most definitely taken her up on that more than once, à la the whole therapy thing a few weeks back. She’s good for him, and Caesar would certainly like to think he’s at least a little bit good for her. At least a little.