Work Text:
1) We admitted that we were powerless over alcohol - that our lives had become unmanageable.
“I am powerless over alcohol. My life has become unmanageable,” Lister reads in a monotone off of his phone.
Jimmy and Rowan stare back at him blankly.
“Yeah… we know?”
“You called a house meeting to tell us this?”
“I’m in a twelve step program! I’m doing the twelve steps!”
“I don’t think reading aloud from the Alcoholics Anonymous website counts as ‘doing the twelve steps,” Rowan points out, like the hater he is.
“You could go to rehab, you know,” Jimmy adds, like the traitor he is.
Lister is starting to regret sitting in the center of the kitchen table. Originally, he’d thought it would make him seem official and business-like… but in actuality, he’s just made it easier for his friends to gang up on him.
“What, and uproot my life for 6 months? Nope.” He smacks a hand down on the nearest placemat. “I am speedrunning this shit.”
“Speedrunning… sobriety.”
Rowan looks like he’s torn between laughing and crying- an often occurrence when Lister is around.
“Yes! Finally someone gets it!”
“Finally? It’s been like, a minute.”
“A minute too long- I’m trying to speed run here, chop chop!”
2) Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.
Lister blinks down at his screen, suddenly regretful. After about a minute of silent scrolling, he speaks up.
“Hey, uh, guys? Have either of you actually read the twelve steps before?”
“No,” says Jimmy, just as Rowan says “Yes.”
“...Roro? Got something you wanna tell me?”
He bats his eyes. The bassist rolls his own. “Yeah. I worry about you, dickhead.”
Lister falters, imagining Rowan the insomniac up at 2am, googling ‘how to help your alcoholic bandmate.’ But that’s too much to deal with on any given day, so he moves on.
“So it turns out AA is like… weirdly Christian. No offense, Jimmy.”
Jimmy shrugs. “Atheists can be alcoholics too.”
“We should put that on our merch.”
“Not agnostics, though. We’re too cool for that,” Rowan brags, prompting a groan from Lister.
“Oh, fuck off with your namby pamby non-committal center of the Venn Diagram shit. ‘Ooh, there might be something out there, la-dee-da-’”
“Non-committal? I’m the one who was in a committed relationship for 5 years.”
“Oh yeah, and how did that work out for you?” Yikes. Too far?
“Better than pining after my bandmate for 6."
TOO FAR.
He thought they'd unanimously agreed to never speak of this again, but apparently Rowan doesn't respect the sanctity of 'Rules Lister Makes Up In His Head And Assumes Everyone Else Is Totally On Board With.'
That cunt.
“...Are we gonna talk about this?” Jimmy asks, looking awkwardly between them.
“Nope!”
Lister stands, pushing back his chair with a screech that makes his head throb, and- in his panic- fully exits the apartment. It’s only once he’s standing in the hallway that he realizes:
I could’ve just gone to my room.
Maybe I should start drinking again, just so I have something to blame my dumbassery on.
But that’s a dangerous line of thought, so instead he texts Rowan!
Lister Bird: hey ro
Lister Bird: what’s a power greater than myself
Lister Bird: that isn’t god
rowan: Me
rowan: I will beat your ass if you don’t talk to Jimmy
Lister Bird: don’t threaten me with a good time ;)
Lister Bird: i’ll talk to jimmy if you give me an actual answer
rowan: Ugh, fine
rowan: Love
Lister Bird: that’s so cliche
rowan: For a reason
rowan: Talk to him idiot
Lister Bird: i love our cute little nicknames <33
So either Rowan would restore him to sanity, or the power of love would. He hoped it was the second one… not because he believed in all that shit, but because Rowan would be insufferable otherwise, and he couldn’t deal with that while sober.
3) Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him.
“Hey Jimjam, can you pass the tomato sauce?”
Jimmy looks at him, looks at the tomato sauce an inch away from his hand, and makes the decision not to question it. He pokes it towards him.
Lister surreptitiously texts Rowan under the table.
Lister Bird: did it.
Rowan huffs from the other room. “Doesn’t count.”
Jimmy glances over. “Huh?”
Lister glares. “Nothing.”
“Say. Something. Real,” his least agreeable bandmate persists.
“So, Jimjam. I don’t understand God.” He hears a loud thud in the background (presumably Rowan banging his head against the wall) and grins.
“...Okay?”
“Care to explain him to me?”
“Uh.” His eyebrows furrow, wary. “You’re not asking to make fun of me, right?”
“What? No!” Maybe a little bit to make fun of Rowan, but… “I wouldn’t do that.”
“You have. Before.”
“I have?”
“Back in sixth form. I told you I knew God was real and you laughed.”
“Oh.” A prickling feeling runs along his spine, the feeling he always gets when reminded of his younger self. “Sorry. I was an arse.”
Still am, to be honest.
“No, no, you were right. I didn’t have any evidence- nothing solid, I guess. It’s just… a feeling.”
“What’s it like?”
As Lister asks, he’s surprised to find that he’s actually curious. He’s never believed in God- never had any reason to. What kind of benevolent ruler would let children starve?
But it’s important to Jimmy, so. Yeah.
“It’s like… there’s something watching over me. I’m not into all that fire and brimstone crap, you know? If I was, I’d just give up and resign myself to Hell. But the idea of a loving Creator, this- safety net to fall back on when I fuck up, something simple in a world that’s so complicated… I don’t know, it’s nice. And when I pray I just- it’s not about asking for things. Well, not entirely. It’s a way to just stop existing for a bit, because it’s like I become part of the universe. All my other thoughts disappear. Which is crazy because my brain is always, always moving.”
Oh. Oh.
That’s how I feel when I’m onstage with you, Lister wants to say. When the lights are flashing in my eyes and the fans are screaming up a storm and everything fades away. And we- Rowan, Lister, Jimmy- are One.
If he were a braver man, he would have. Instead, he lets out a noncommittal hmm and grabs a fork from the silverware drawer.
Jimmy goes on, gaining confidence as he speaks. “My nan used to say, uh, that there’s a little bit of God in all of us. Because God is love. Easy as that.”
Faintly, he hears Rowan in the distance. “Holy shit. We’re writing a song about that.”
If he were a braver man, he’d offer to help. Instead, he retreats to his room, mumbling under his breath.
“Can’t wait to hear it.”
4) Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves.
“Rowan? What’s a moral inventory?”
“Look it up,” Rowan responds, not glancing away from his book— It Goes Like This, some American novel about a gay girl group. Lister tried to pick it up a few times, but he could never sit still long enough to get through more than a chapter.
“But you’re the smart one!”
“What makes you think that?”
“You wear glasses. It’s scientifically proven that the chemicals in glasses make brains stronger.”
“Didn’t you fail your science GCSE?” Jimmy asks, poking his head out from the kitchen. Lister jumps- he hadn’t realized the boy was there.
Rowan sighs, taking pity on him. “...A moral inventory is a written assessment of your life. Including strengths, weaknesses, and the ways that your addiction has affected it.”
“Huh.”
“Want help?”
“Do I need you to list off all of my weaknesses?” He giggles faintly. “Nope, I think I’m good.”
Ironically (cause, y’know, the name), Lister has always been a fan of lists. They’re simple in a way life just… isn’t. It’s nice to have that kind of surety in life, that carefully planned schedule. Then when he inevitably fucks it up, he can check back and see where he went wrong.
A safety net. Kind of like how Jimmy described God.
Then he thinks that’s the nerdiest thing he’s ever said and moves on.
Weaknesses: Alcoholism (duh). Clingy. Self-centered yet insecure. Makes jokes at the worst times possible. Irresponsible. A burden. Can’t commit to anything. Quits if not immediately good at something. Zones out all the time. Kisses bandmates without consent instead of talking about feelings. Can’t talk about feelings. Fucking pathetic. Privileged. A bad friend. A waste.
Strengths:
The blank space stares back at him, taunting him.
He goes to write ‘funny,’ then remembers every joke that’s ever flopped. He goes to write ‘music,’ then remembers he hasn’t played in weeks. He used to practice every day- towels draped over his drums so his mum wouldn’t complain about the noise. It was the only good thing in his life before Jimmy and Rowan. Before The Ark.
…But it turns out The Ark isn’t so great after all, and nothing is simple anymore.
Now he’s not sure what he has left. His looks?
He writes ‘hot.’
Then tears the paper in half.
Then throws it in the trash.
Then sets it on fire with his pocket lighter, because those last few actions weren’t dramatic enough.
rowan: How’s it going
He snaps a picture of the garbage pile and sends it to rowan.
rowan: What the fuck
rowan: Don’t burn our house down you little freak
rowan: Is that your moral inventory???
Lister Bird: adding ‘arson’ to my strengths category
rowan: I seriously hate you sometimes
The smoke alarm starts beeping, loud and piercing, from the ceiling.
Lister Bird: that makes two of us
5) Admitted to God, to ourselves, and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs.
He decides to skip the God part.
“I’m an alcoholic,” he says to his reflection, like some fucked up mirror affirmation. It’s slightly blurry, as if he were looking at himself through the bottom of a shot glass.
“I’m an alcoholic,” he says to Jimmy, having unceremoniously barged into the bathroom.
Jimmy spits a glob of toothpaste into the sink. “...And?”
“...I’m sorry?”
“…For what?”
Lister stares back incredulously. Does he really not know?
Does he just want me to say it out loud?
“For- everything.”
Fucking up shows. The X-Factor incident. The suitcase incident. All the incidents. Kissing you, and pretending it never happened. Apologizing a million times instead of doing anything to fix it. I’ve been… a really fucking terrible friend. And you've have done nothing but try and help me, and I don’t get that, and I don’t think I deserve it, but. I’m grateful, I promise. Even if I can’t always show it.
He opens his mouth to say just that-
“I’d forgive him if I were you,” Angel comments from the phone laying on the counter. “He sounds serious.”
God, he wants a drink.
6) Were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character.
To-Do List:
- Be better.
- Now keep doing it.
He scrawls the words in glittery purple gel pen on a Post-It Note and sticks it to his wall. He knows he’ll forget it’s there (tucked in between band posters and his favorite pieces of fanart), but the writing it is enough for now.
He texts Jimmy.
lister bird: number 2 is the problem
jimmy: lister i told you to stop texting me about your diarrhea
jimmy: you’ve won a bake off challenge, you can cook things other than ramen
lister bird: i’m not talking about my diarrhea
lister bird: this time
lister bird: can you come over?
jimmy: to the bathroom?
lister bird: not the bathroom!!! my room!!!
lister bird: I AM NOT SHITTING
jimmy: jeez no need to shout
jimmy: omw
7) Humbly asked Him to remove our shortcomings.
“Did you just expect me to read your mind?” Jimmy asks the second he walks into Lister's room.
Lister surreptitiously kicks a pair of boxers under the dresser. “No. I expected you to expect me to be talking about something other than shit. And then I expected you to ask me what I was actually talking about.”
“Okay, well, you expected wrong.”
“I don’t know how to be a good person.”
“Shit.”
“See? Now you’re doing it too.”
“How unexpected.”
They grin at each other for a moment.
“Wait, what?”
“I don’t know how to be a good person,” Lister repeats, flopping down on his bed. “Teach me? Please?”
“Mate, you sound like Eleanor Shellstrop.”
“Did you know that whole show was supposed to be a critique of a modern sitcom? I read an article about it.”
Read was an overstatement. He’d lightly skimmed it at best.
Jimmy raises an eyebrow, delicately perching on the end of the mattress. “Oh yeah?”
“Well, it’s like… the characters are all trapped in this one place, in their archetypes. Living out these kooky scenarios until the end of time- or at least, they’re supposed to. But instead they find a way to grow, and change.”
“Huh. That’s kind of fucking genius.”
“Right?” He rolls over on his back, because staring at anything but Jimmy makes this easier somehow. “Sometimes I feel like that- like some kind of sitcom character. I’m just comic relief, you know? The alcoholic. The ‘hot one.’ The flirt. You two are allowed to be 3-dimensional people. You’re allowed to be real. And I’ve just kind of… stuck myself in this little box where all I’m good for is making stupid repetitive jokes until I die. Because who's gonna like me otherwise?”
“I don’t think that’s all you’re good for.” Jimmy’s voice is soft like falling rain.
“Isn’t it?”
There’s a crack on the ceiling. It’s shaped a bit like a cross, if you’re high and paranoid- not that Lister’s ever had any experience in that arena, no sirree.
“Nuh uh. What if... what if I like you the way you are?” His voice shakes a little.
He's nervous. Lister feels his breathing still, doesn’t dare to hope, doesn’t dare to… “Then you’re an idiot with a death wish.” He can feel Jimmy flinch without even turning his head, and immediately backtracks. “Fuck- see? I fuck everything up. We were having a nice moment and I ruined it.”
He rubs a hand along his face, briefly forgetting to worry about acne. What’s the point of being sober if he’s just gonna word-vomit anyway?
The bed creaks as Jimmy shifts closer to him. “Look, nobody’s good, okay? Everybody can be nice. But you try. Every day you show up and you make us laugh and you try to be better. Do you think we’d care about you if you were really just some empty comic relief?”
“No. That’s why I’m scared. I don’t… I don’t think I feel things like a normal person. Things that are supposed to affect me are just...” he waves his hand blandly- “nothing.”
“That’s called repression. According to my therapist, I do it all the time.”
Finally, slowly, Lister shifts to face Jimmy. And God, he’s so close. He can feel his breath on his face.
“I give up,” he confesses. “I’ve tried to stop drinking… like a million times. But I never told anyone because that would make it real.”
Jimmy smiles, faintly. “I think I like you better when you’re real, Lister Bird.”
The other boy says his name reverently, as if it’s something to be treasured. As if it’s a secret for just the 2 of them instead of a brand the whole world knows.
“You do?”
“Yeah.” He chuckles, nervously. “Can I…”
“Yeah,” Lister answers immediately.
He could’ve been asking for anything- diamonds, rubies, the moon on a silver platter, Lister would give it all to him.
Jimmy smiles, as if he’s thinking the same thing, and leans in for a kiss.
“Oh,” he says suddenly, pulling back.
“What?” Lister asks, terrified. “Did I- are you okay?”
“Yeah, I just… your breath.”
“Shit, is it bad?”
“No, it- your breath- it doesn’t taste like cigarettes.”
And then he’s leaning back in and…
Heaven.
8) Made a list of all persons we had harmed, and became willing to make amends to them all.
He wakes to a perfectly domestic scene- Jimmy snoring into his shoulder, sunlight dappling his face. Absurdly, he’s reminded of the Jowan photo.
APOLOGY LIST:
1) Jimmy
2) Rowan
He wonders what the fans would say upon witnessing this, then wonders if he’s a bad person for wishing they could. At least then they’d stop calling him a third wheel online.
3) The fans
4) The fans again (for treating them as a monolith when they are, in fact, their own individual people. Even if there’s like 50 million of them.)
5) Angel (because she’s probably not a fan anymore)
6) And her friend. Jessica? Jade? Jesus? (he’s so bad with names)
7) That one hook-up he ghosted after she started hinting at a relationship
8) That other hook-up he ghosted after he started hinting at a relationship
9) Cecily
God, Cecily. He can still remember her face when she came to visit him in the hospital. Even as she brusquely patted him on the shoulder and told him to ‘stay off Twitter, Allister’ (which, whoops), he could see the concern and care behind the business-like mask she so frequently wore.
None of them deserved her- this badass woman willing to put her career on the line for this trio of fuckups. Actually, she kind of reminds him of…
10) Mum.
He stifles a laugh. Here he is, with the love of his (admittedly short) life in his arms, and he’s regretting not calling his mum enough.
They hadn’t done anything last night, not really… just cuddled and talked until they couldn’t keep their eyes open any longer. But once he did finally drift off, it was the best he'd ever slept in his life.
As if sensing his thoughts, Jimmy blinks his eyes open slowly (brown like coffee beans, addictive like… coffee beans)- then yelps.
“Holy shit!”
Lister instantly shoots up, preparing to disentangle himself and pretend this whole thing never happened, but Jimmy pulls him back down to meet his gaze.
“Were you just- watching me sleep? Like the... the fucking Twilight vampire?”
“Uh-“ Pause while his brain short-circuits. “Yes?”
“Creepy.”
“I’m sorry.” A little too much sincerity creeps into his tone.
Jimmy squints at him, like he knows that’s not the only thing he’s apologizing for. “It’s okay, Edward.”
1) Jimmy
Pre-day pandemonium accomplished, his bandmate nuzzles into the crook of his arm. Lister huffs out a laugh. “You have really cute bedhead, by the way.”
“Oh, fuck off.”
He’s surprised by how natural it feels. It's just an extension of their friendship- although he guesses that's all a relationship is, really- and the thought makes him so giddy that he has to bite a smile into his pillow.
A (potential) relationship with Jimmy Kaga-Ricci. Who would’ve guessed?
Lister is just beginning to doze off again when Jimmy finally rolls out from his grasp.
“Okay, so, uh… I think this is the kind of thing we should talk about in a ‘house meeting.’” He puts air quotes around the word, shuddering as he does so. “And I’m really not in the mood for that today. So can I sneak out before Rowan sees me?”
“Walk of shame,” Lister teases. His cheeks are starting to hurt. “Waaalk. Ooof. Shaaame.”
“Yeah, yeah, like you’ve never done it before.”
Right. They’re gonna need to talk about… all of that. Sometime soon, he promises himself. Just not now. They’re on hiatus, right?
They have all the time in the world.
Lister watches Jimmy’s retreating figure, then sinks back down onto his pillow, letting the warm embrace of sleep pull him in…
“Oh my God. Oh my God!” Rowan’s voice shatters the tranquility.
Welp.
No rest for the wicked.
9) Made direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others.
So... his mum.
He knows she’s up (Rowan interrogated them for the better part of an hour, so it's around noon now), probably watering her flowers and drinking disgusting black coffee, and all of a sudden he really needs to hear her voice. Just to know that she’s okay.
He takes a deep breath. (Which only makes him more nervous, because he only tries to take deep breaths when he’s nervous, and his body recognizes that at this point, and goes, ‘oh no, we should be nervous,’ and then he’s skating the edge of full panic mode-)
And hits “call.”
She picks up after a few rings.
“Allister?” The disbelief in her voice stings. “Is everything okay?”
“Hey, mum. Everything’s fine. It’s… been a while.”
“It has.” He hears the rigid politeness in her voice, hears the unspoken message- why are you calling- and searches his brain for a topic. Because honestly, why is he calling?
“So, uh… did you get the last payment I sent you? No issues?”
She sighs, of course it’s all about money, and he’s not supposed to mention it. It’s an unspoken rule, be subtle, don’t talk about the payments, don’t shame his mother for not being able to afford things, and he didn’t mean it, he didn’t mean-
“Yes. You really don’t need to do all that, you know.”
He does.
“Hey.” He laughs weakly. “You took care of me for how many years? I can at least return the favor.”
Another sigh, wistful this time. “Well, I must have done something right. Look at you. You’ve turned into a good man.”
Nobody's good.
She doesn’t know.
“I… I’m trying,” he says, repeating Jimmy’s words like a hymn. “I try.”
She doesn’t know a thing.
They chat for a little while longer, all pleasantries and anecdotes and Susan did what? She asks about his injury.
“It barely hurts anymore,” he lies. “Good, good,” she responds.
“Jimmy insisted on changing the bandages every day. So they wouldn’t get infected.” He doesn’t know why he says it. He wants to tell her, he really does- but it’s like his mind and voice are working against each other.
“Oh, does he?” There’s a playful lilt to her voice. “You used to have the biggest crush on him in middle school. It was adorable.”
“Wh- Mum! You knew about that?”
“A mother always knows.”
And here’s the thing- he doesn’t think that’s true. But if it makes her feel better, she can have it.
They talk for a few more minutes. It’s awkward, stilted, and slightly fake.
…It’s one of the nicest conversations he’s had in years.
Until she signs off with the obligatory: “Well, I’d hate to keep you any longer, I’ll let you go now.”
She hangs up and he exhales, feeling all the tension drain from his body.
He’s relieved. And a little sick to his stomach.
He exits his room for the second time today, hoping not to run into Rowan- he can’t handle facing him after their untimely morning meeting.
“Who were you talking to?”
Rowan is leaning against the wall, faux-casually scrolling through his phone.
Of course. That nosy…
“My mum.”
“Ah. Everything okay?”
“Yeah, she’s fine.”
Rowan’s expression softens.
“I wasn’t asking about her.”
A mother always knows.
Lister sputters and chokes out a “yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.”
“Mm.” Rowan looks him up and down for a second, then turns and walks to put the kettle on.
“Hey Ro?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry for being a fuckup.”
“Hey Lis?” He doesn’t turn around, but his body stills.
“Yeah?”
“Are you still doing that speedrun thing?”
“...”
“Apology not accepted. Save it for when you mean it.”
2) Rowan. Still.
It's moments later, after making up an excuse about diarrhea and retreating to the bathroom (and, okay, maybe Jimmy was right about the shit thing) that he remembers- he never apologized to his mother.
10) Mum. Still.
Only 1 down, and the list just keeps getting longer.
10) Continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly admitted it.
Fun fact!
Alcohol withdrawal is basically an extended hangover.
Which is just. Ironic!
But although his ears are ringing and his vision is blurred, he still manages to catch the whoosh of crinkled notebook paper as it slides underneath his door- then the pitter patter of retreating footsteps in the hallway outside.
“Hey Rowan,” he calls. Silence. The door cracks open the tiniest bit, letting a sliver of brightness into the room.
“How’d you know it was me?”
Lister shrugs. “You walk differently than Jimmy. Different rhythm.” He mimes the footfall, a simple 1-2 beat on his lap. "And louder."
“Leave it to you to notice.”
“Are you gonna explain why you’re leaving ominous notes under my door now, or…?” The bassist hesitates- barely perceptible, but real nonetheless. “You can come in, you know.”
The door fully opens this time, silhouetting Rowan in the light. Lister resists the urge to recoil from the sudden assault on his eyes, and instead ends up blinking like a naked mole rat in the sun.
“You’re around step 10 now, right?”
It takes him a second to figure out what the other boy's talking about. Normally, Lister would crack a joke about his epic sobriety capabilities. But his head is killing him (seriously, it's like his heart is pounding out of his brain) and it's been a long day already, so he just nods.
“Huh.” Rowan’s face is stoic as he stands in the doorway… a stark contrast to his bubblegum pink hair, newly done in waves.
“What can I say? When I commit, I commit.”
The boy picks up the paper from the floor and hands it to him (after pausing, then decisively crossing out a line of text). He blinks.
“Is this…”
“The Death Note, yeah- no dumbass, it’s your moral inventory.” Rowan must be anxious. He always gets snarky when he’s anxious.
For once in his life, Lister doesn’t skim. He reads.
Weaknesses: Alcoholism (obviously). Allergic to feelings. Allergic to effort. Commitment-phobe. Late to everything. Dips crisps in yogurt like a fucking maniac. Procrastinates (same). Twitter addict. Uses comedy as a crutch/pretends not to care about anything. Fails to realize just how important he is to everyone in his life.
“Finish the list,” Rowan says quietly when Lister looks up.
Strengths: Funny. Smart- even if he acts dumb sometimes all the time. Good taste in friends. Surprisingly okay baker (worse than me though). Could probably master any instrument if he actually tried. Talented lyricist (don’t think I haven’t been paying attention). Mario Kart. Dancing (I am sorry for making you do the Fortnite dance and shouting “go white boy go”). So goddamn lovable, even when he fucks up. Even when he doesn’t believe he’s worthy of it.
“Ro, I…”
“Save it. Just- when you set this one on fire, try not to set off the smoke alarm. Okay?”
“Aye, aye, captain.”
He’s never burning this. He’s pinning it on his wall, right next to his Post-It note.
From the way Rowan winks, he thinks he knows that too.
11) Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God as we understood Him, praying only for knowledge of His will for us and the power to carry that out.
“This is an original 10 minute guided Morning Meditation recorded by us. As the day unfolds, may you walk this path of inner peace with unwavering grace and unshakable resolve. Know that you are not alone, for the universe conspires…”
Conspires? That sounds suspicious.
Is this just the intro? The music is too soothing for it to just be the intro, right? He should be meditating. But how’s he supposed to meditate with this voice talking at him? Should he be listening? But how’s he supposed to focus on listening and relaxing at the same time?
Fuck, listening.
“As you tune into your breath and body…”
You can tune into breath? Like a guitar? If so, he’s definitely off-key.
Deep breaths still make him nervous, but he takes one anyway.
“...the symphony of your soul…”
Hey, he likes that.
“...be filled with serenity, profound insights, and boundless joy.”
He feels his limbs begin to loosen, the sunlight streaming in through the blinds allowing him to breathe easier than ever before.
“Wishing you a morning filled with peace and-”
“IT’S AMAZING! WATCH HOW OXICLEAN UNLEASHES THE POWER OF OXYGEN-”
“Jesus, fuck!”
Lister scrambles up from his seated position on the floor to pause the ad, freezing it on a screencap of Billy Mays’ obnoxiously happy face. It’s only when he hears a snicker behind him that he turns to see Jimmy.
“Now who’s creepy, oh my God-” He presses a hand to his chest, trying to calm his racing heartbeat.
“If you watch me when I sleep, I can watch you when you meditate. …Especially when you do it in the middle of the living room.”
“Maybe we should just stop watching each other altogether.”
Jimmy hums, taking a sidling step towards him. “You looked peaceful.”
“Appearances can be deceptive.”
He’s trying to seem indifferent, but his gaze inadvertently drops down to Jimmy’s mouth. The guitarist smirks. “Pray with me?”
“...Is that a euphemism?”
“Okay, Hozier.”
“What did you just call me?”
“I called you a ho, sir.”
“Gay gasp.”
“You’re trying to meditate, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, I’m trying to pray. Someplace quiet. ...You can be quiet, right?”
Jimmy's expression is positively angelic, but from the way he smiles and tucks his tongue into his cheek, Lister knows the double entendre was intentional.
"Yeah," he manages to croak out.
The thoughts going through his mind are far from holy- especially once Jimmy kneels- but he manages to relax into a seated position anyway.
“Now what?” he asks stupidly.
Jimmy takes his hand. "Close your eyes," he says. It’s only then that Lister realizes his bandmate is shaking slightly, and just how personal and scary this must be for him. He squeezes it reassuringly (I'm here, I won’t judge you), and lets his vision fade to black.
Dear God… I guess I should start this off by saying, I don't know if I believe in you. Okay, that’s a lie (sin! Oh no!), I know that I definitely don't. And if you were real? I don't think I'd want to pray to you anyway. News flash- you're not that perfect! You can be cruel. I'm literally in a band named after your wrath. I bet you hate that- hate that people know the worst of you, hate that they still love you anyway.
So look. I get wanting to start over, believe me. I get wanting to flood the world just to stick a pride flag in the debris. Hell, I get wanting to climb out of a window and abandon all your responsibilities forever. But that's not the answer. And it doesn't work, not really. Because your past will always come back to haunt you. All you can do is... atone, I guess.
Halle-fucking-lujah.
He peeks an eye open to look at Jimmy.
His lips move silently in prayer. Lister resists the urge to suck the words from his mouth.
They’d probably burn him anyway.
12) Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these Steps, we tried to carry this message to alcoholics, and to practice these principles in all our affairs.
Jimmy and Rowan are snuggled up on the couch watching TV. Ordinarily, a scene like this would make Lister’s chest ache… witnessing the limited space between them, the space where Lister could never fit.
Only this time he realized- he’d never asked them to make room in the first place.
“Hey guys.”
They turn in creepy unison, like the twins from The Shining. “Yeah?”
“So I had an idea- for when we get off of hiatus, that is.”
Rowan raises an eyebrow. “Is this a ‘house meeting’ kind of idea, or a ‘speedrun a 12 step program’ kind of idea?”
“The first one. Although I’m starting to think you just like calling those.”
“Ha. Ha." But Rowan pauses the show anyways.
“So what’s up?” Jimmy asks.
Lister takes the shallowest breath possible.
“What if we told the truth? Not about everything, obviously. But about my…alcoholism.” Saying it never gets easier. “Because I want to talk about it. Like. On our channel, or in a song, or both. I just… we have so many young fans, you know? And they get sucked in by the glamour and don’t realize- how fucking hard our lives can be. Or shit, I don’t know, we’re so goddamn privileged but it’s still a struggle every day?”
“Lis…” When he looks back up, Rowan’s eyes are boring into his. “Are you sure about this? It’s a big decision.”
He clenches his fists. Holding his ground. “Look, I- I know we’re probably gonna lose fans over this, but I feel like I could help some of them too. And if I can help people… there’s no excuse for not doing it.”
“It’s not about them,” Rowan says gently. “It’s about you.”
“Oh.”
For the hundredth time this week, Lister is struck with the realization that maybe, just maybe, Rowan Omondi genuinely cares for him. It's somehow still surprising.
He also realizes that he's been standing stupidly behind the couch for way too long now, and hops over it to nestle between them- making them both grumble in protest, even as they readjust.
“Well I’m 100% ready," he fibs. "I even have the perfect title. Wait for it, wait for it..." He holds out his hands in front of him, as if envisioning it in lights. “‘I’m an Arkoholic.’”
…
“Thoughts?”
Rowan is the first one to speak. “You dumb fucking-”
"So we release this video,” Jimmy says hurriedly, cutting him off. “Title still up for debate. And then what?”
“And then… I guess I’m going to rehab.” Rowan's mouth snaps shut. Jimmy's mouth falls open. Screech- surprise! Tonal shift! He can't help but laugh, just a little. “Uh. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we have a lot of free time on our hands all of a sudden.”
“Does that mean you’re done with the speedrun?” Rowan’s voice is either disbelieving or impressed. It's impossible to tell.
“I... don’t know if I’ll ever be done," he answers honestly. "I’m probably gonna be carrying these steps on for the rest of my life.”
Jimmy nods. “Healing isn’t linear, right? My therapist told me that.”
Lister snaps his fingers. “Yeah! I’ve just walked 12 steps on a never ending staircase.”
Rowan grins. “Now that’s a song.”
“I’m just picturing it to the tune of Never Ending Story,” Jimmy confesses.
“Never ending sto-ory,” they all chorus in unison, and once Rowan’s over-the-top church lady vibrato finally fades out, Lister spreads his arms wide.
“Group hug?”
And 3 bodies- Rowan, Lister, Jimmy- collide into One.
It feels like an ending, and a beginning at the same time. Then again, that’s not exactly profound- that’s kind of just how life works.
So, after reaching the final step, he decides to add his own.
13 - Hug your friends in the safety of your living room. And feel God. Whatever that means to you. Maybe it’s the friends you made along the way. Maybe it’s been inside you all along. Maybe it’s something even more cliche than that. Whatever form it comes in… cherish it. Love it. And don’t be so quick to let it slip away.
"LISTER WE ARE NOT CALLING OUR FANS THE ARKOHOLICS."
Amen.