Chapter Text
==>Dirk's computer: PINKWHITEPINKWHITEPINKWHITEPINK...
Your name is DIRK STRIDER and you are twenty-two years old. You own a ROBOTICS CONSULTING FIRM and you are, in general, FAIRLY HAPPY with your life. You and your three best friends played a GAME not so very long ago, which you won (for a certain value of winning), but not without paying a heavy price in LOST SLEEP, NIGHTMARES, and SOCIAL WITHDRAWAL.
You're back from a long day of meeting with investors when you notice that your Pesterchum viewscreen is blinking pink-white-pink-white over and over. That color scheme alarm can only be one person, so you don't even bother to put down your car keys.
-- TimaeusTestified [TT] began pestering tipsyGnostalgic [TG] –
TT: Roxy. What's going on?
TG: dikr, I cant cant. Please.
You sigh, and yet your heart speeds up at the same time. She needs help. She needs you. She's almost incoherent.
TG: I need u
TT: What the hell have you been doing?
TG: what do you thikn I been doing
TG: drk I just c't anymore.
TG: pls come plx
TT: Roxy, just calm down. Breathe.
TG: ...
**
The first time you did this, you were fourteen, and you'd been an orphan for three months. Despite being devastated that your brother was gone, that you were now all alone with only robots for company, you kept contact with your friends over Pesterchum, because you needed that contact, at least. And even if you were sobbing your eyes out, you could usually keep up your regular banter online.
Or not.
With these three, it really didn't matter.
And one day, Roxy didn't come online till late, and she definitely wasn't as chatty as usual. You had opened up a group chat, and then she came out with it:
TG: my mom's dead.
It wasn't even misspelled.
Over that night as you all tried to help her through, her typing became worse and worse. All of you knew that she imbibed upon occasion, but as her typing became less legible, the others started opening up other Pesterchum windows to express their worries to you.
You'd volunteered to fly up to New York, because you had access to money, and you had no one telling you where to go or what to do. You'd put on your Auto-Responder and told the others that you were going, and left.
You love all of your friends, of course. They're all great in different ways. But you and Roxy were special, not that you were in love with her, but just that you seemed to be the same in many ways. There was a bond there that went beyond friendship. Even if Jane had volunteered to go (even if her dad would have allowed it), you don't think you would have let her go alone.
You had to see how she was for yourself.
The taxi had dropped you off at her door, and you went up and knocked. The house looked eerily dark, and that made you even more worried than you had been before. You pulled out your phone to find about fifty frantic messages, all along the lines of: ROXY STOPPED TALKING TO US AN HOUR AGO, ARE YOU THERE YET???
You try the door, which is unlocked. You try to reassure yourself that nothing is wrong as you walk into the cold, dark house, looking for your friend. You found her passed out in a puddle of her own vomit on the floor of her room.
TT: found her. Taking care of things now.
You'd stayed for a week, and discovered a few things about yourself, and Roxy.
The first thing was that you really, really enjoyed taking care of another person. It gave you a pleasant feeling, warm and happy. It was the best feeling.
The second thing was that Roxy was really, really affectionate, not just when she was drunk, but all the time. More often than not, you and she slept in the same bed, curled together. Sometimes, you stayed there all day, only getting up to go to the bathroom or make food.
The third thing was that both of you were very, very lonely, and you got along really well together.
Before you left, you promised her that you would always, always be there if she needed him, and she'd kissed you, soft and sweet and sober.
As first kisses went, it was really
really
wonderful.
Since that first time, you'd gone back when she needed you, which was usually about three times a year. Each time, you learned how to take care of Roxy better, so you could do whatever she needed you to do for her. Even though you like boys, there was something about taking care of Roxy that did it for you, and you always returned the favor.