Richie knows what addiction is like. But he’s never been unlucky enough to be dragged into the desperate, achy hell of it himself.

He saw it in his parents when he was a kid, his father had an addiction to adrenaline, the thrill of sneaking around without his wife knowing, and his mother subsequently suffered an addiction to any alcohol she could get her hands on, sleeping pills too. Her drink of choice to wash them down was a nice glass of a cheap, unlabelled chardonnay.

He liked to act like the tough man, like the man who had done it all and seen it all and had every bit of advice to give to Carmen and you and anyone who would listen and take it from you.

He moved in with the Berzattos when he was a teenager, to get away from his parents, and Michael and Natalie did a good job at hiding Donna’s addiction from him, because they knew he was fragile, no matter what he tried to tell them.

He understands that, now.

He had to watch Michael slip into addiction. And he never got to see him recover. He lost Michael to the disease, and as he saw the signs, the ugly arms that were creeping their way over you, squeezing and grasping and taking away his love, he knew he couldn’t lose you too.

He could help. He could do this.

He humoured you, at first. Thought it would be good to get a grasp at what you were dealing with. He took whatever you were taking, drank whatever you were drinking, and he had to admit, he didn’t like it.

What was worse was when he spent nights sat with you, looking after you, watching the substances take control while he was stone cold sober.

Now, he had to act like he couldn’t read your mind.

He’s been laid awake all night, watching you sleep through a night of nasty withdrawals. Cold sweats, achy bones, feeling the way your muscles spasmed as you clung on to him tight, the muscles in your arms flexing as he slowly stroked up and down your back with big, warm hands.

The cut from the substances has been nasty for you, but he’s making sure you stick to it.

He couldn’t save Michael, so he’s going to make sure he saves you.

It’s too warm out, and you feel feverish, but Richie keeps ahold of you as you wake up, and sweet talks you into existence while he brushes sweaty hair away from your face.

Breakfast goes well, for the first time in days (meaning that it doesn’t come back up) and Richie hums quietly to you as he washes dishes at the sink.

“That’s the best you’ve done in a while, y’know?.. Proud of you… Real proud..”