YBC Challenge: The Sixth Day -- Violet

They all had their own personal vices.

Kenichi’s was work. The young Japanese couldn’t get away from it; after being repeatedly told to focus on getting to the top as a child, the businessman was now unstoppable. Taking over the business his father had left wasn’t exactly hard, and now he was close to the very top.

Matt’s had been smoking, previously. He had been a heavy smoker in his teenage years and only resolved to stop upon finding out about A’s own unease around fire and/or smoke. Smoking helped calm his nerves; it was a nasty habit he started right before he left the Wammy Orphanage. Matt smoked before an exam, before departing the institution, before lifting his gun and sniping. He smoked after an exam, after departing Wammy’s, after seeing the body of his target slump to the ground. He smoked as a form of celebration and as a form of relieving stress.

It was an excessively unhealthy vice, he knew. So he prepared for the comments from future flings, shrugging them off with relative ease.

What he didn’t expect was for his current girlfriend to have an unhealthy vice as well.

Matt sent smoke washing through his lungs.

A drank herself to oblivion.

Almost.

He had first noticed on the fourth date. Matt’s old girlfriend usually ordered simple drinks or fancy cocktails when they went out, but A ordered shots and downed them one after another. She had realized that he was watching the third shot down, and she gave an embarrassed smile with her cheeks a little pinker than usual.

“I-I’m sorry. Rough day,” she apologized. Matt nodded quietly and kept watching her, stopping the half-German at her fifth. At that point, her face was a glowing shade of pink and she was more receptive to his actions, flashing him smiles and flirty half-smirks. A was on the way.

What shocked him was that she didn’t seem to have an intention to stop.

It was only when he stopped her did she seem to realize what she was doing and pushed the glasses away with a semi-horrified look on her face. As flushed as she was, A still seemed to have her sense of mind.

“I have to go,” A managed, standing up. Matt’s eyes widened.

“Let me take you home–”

“I’ll catch a cab,” A interrupted. He shook his head in response.

“No. You’re mildly tipsy.” She looked visibly upset and he sighed, running a hand through his messy red hair. “Just let me take you home. Please? I’m not going to do anything to you,” he promised, and A eventually relented. They ended up in his car, Matt silently driving her home while she looked down at her hands, refusing to glance anywhere else.

Only when the silence got too much did she actually speak up.

“About a while ago.” A sighed. Matt listened, “It’s…this weird habit of mine. I tend to get carried away during the weekends,” she explained. “You know the job. It’s hard to handle sometimes. So I…I usually go out with the squad and drink with them as a way to relieve tension. There’s always a designated driver – usually Touta – who drives us home after.”

“So you’re used to drinking on the weekends?”

“Don’t phrase it that way,” A snapped, but her expression softened right after. “It’s not like I’m an excessive drinker. God, no. What difference does a few drinks during the weekend make?”

“None,” Matt answered. They had parked in front of a coffee shop. He checked the time. “Do you want something lighter? They serve good non-caffeinated drinks here too,” he offered, and A managed a nod before getting out of the car.

It proved to be just the right place. A explained to Matt what else she went through with alcohol while drinking, and he listened to every detail, noting it down in his mind.

“Mostly wine.” She nodded.

“Red wine. I’m choosy.” A cracked a smile, “Just a few glasses to calm my nerves down, really. I don’t really drink too much. It takes me a while to consume the bottle,” she explained. “But…yes. I drink to calm down.”

“Do your squad mates know?”

“Touta knows.” Matt took a sip from his coffee and she went on, “He’s worried for me. Concerned that I might end up in the hospital with my liver pumped or whatever they do. He’s trying to get me to do healthier alternatives.” He watched as she ran a hand through her black hair, attempting to move it away from her face.

After moments of silence, she spoke in a quieter voice.

“…sorry. These kinds of things aren’t supposed to be discussed during dates,” she apologized feebly, waiting for him to agree and shift to other topics.

But Matt shook his head.

“Don’t be sorry, A.” he smiled at her from his cup, “It’s all good. Really. I’d rather find out from the get go than end up messing up somehow in the future. It’s just…concerning.” Her face must have paled, because he backtracked. “Don’t take it in the wrong way. You’re far from being a serious drinker.” A managed a nod but Matt took her hand, “It’s just scary.”

“Scary,” she repeated.

“Yeah. It’s scary to think about, really. Touta’s right.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze, “There are better ways.”

The two words reverberated in his mind when he would be the one to lift A’s hair up and rub her back as she threw up after a harsh night. They would be in his memory, clear as day, when she would stare longingly at a bottle she kept at home. They would be there to remind him that yes, there are better ways and you should help her find them.

Better ways to deal with the stress.

Better ways to cope.

It took him one angry A, a bottle, and mixed dialects for him to come to his senses. To cut the story short, she had gone overboard.

What made it worse was that it was November, and she was very far away from Winchester and too busy with work to even attempt at flying there.

Drunken apologies and slurred memories.

Matt briefly remembered having to physically restrain her from grabbing the alcohol.

The next morning, after making her breakfast and accompanying her in the bedroom with the lights closed, he offered his help.

He didn’t expect her to accept immediately. He had prepared himself for that. After all, it wasn’t easy to let go of a habit. Especially when that habit was close to becoming an actual vice which could potentially drag her even further.

But surprisingly, she accepted. So they worked towards it.

He knew she loved many things. He knew she loved the dark purple-red (more purple, perhaps) drink which helped her soothe her nerves. He knew she loved wine so much that she kept a bottle or two inside the cupboard for easy access.

He knew she loved him. She loved him for many reasons – and Matt couldn’t believe someone would love him that much. He knew that her love for him ran excessively deep.

Most of  all, he knew that she loved herself – loved herself enough to give the other unopened bottle to someone else and find other ways to settle herself. That she loved herself far too much than to let a single drink control the rest of her actions.

As delicious as wine is, she told him once, you’re better tasting and healthier for me.

(Matt had never turned redder than in that single moment.)