Coffee and Cigarettes

He knows when a day is going to turn sour, when something happens at the beginning, indicating that today is the day that things go wrong. The first thing that happens on the Monday morning is him sleeping in and being screamed at by his mother that he's late.

Shea doesn't completely take this all in, so for the first seconds he just lies there, eyes staring up at the ceiling watching it and waiting, almost as if it's about to cave in on him any second now and any prospects of school will be gone for good - and permanently too.

However, his reverie is shot down when his mother comes in the second time that morning, a furious expression covering every aspect on her face, gritting her teeth. The next thing he knows, his mother is dragging him out of bed by his ears, no matter how many times he protests that he will get up and he will get there on time, but she doesn't listen to him and is mouthing off on him how much of a disappointment he is and how he shouldn't even bother with school because he's never going pass any of his exams anyway at this rate.

Shea feels like rebuking this argument and telling her what he really thinks, but the words are stuck at the back of his throat and it feels like if he does speak them out loud, he'll choke on them. He goes for the best glare instead, as she storms out of the room to leave Shea to his own devices.

Just to spite her, he doesn't rush, he takes his time choosing his clothes which should be a bad decision, considering that this is his education that he is sacrificing for pissing off his mother. But she makes him feel worthless, and the words she was saying drills into his head. Maybe none of this really matters, maybe there's no point in trying at all?

He bites down on his lip as he throws on a t-shirt, a faded band one that he hasn't worn for a very long time. He doesn't care what he's wearing and with only a few minutes later he's properly dressed and ready to leave. Still, he takes his time, climbing down every step in a slow manner until he's being pushed out of the door, a slam coming from behind him.

He stares back around at it, at the chipped paint on the door that makes the place even seem more foreign than it had been when he was a child, when his father nameless and faceless had picked him up and spun him around, singing a low tune to him. It was out of key, but it was memorable, and the little child only wanted to hear more.

Thinking about his father, long gone from his life, makes Shea even more miserable. He can't remember him because the man left them when he was only a little thing, but he wishes he had taken Shea away with him. That's the only thing that Shea would ever wish for.

So for the remainder of the day, he's in a foul mood and can't help acting like a time bomb, ticking away until he finally explodes. College makes everything ten times worse, a boy in the year above him - Collin, he thinks - is picking on him, trying to test him to see how long it will take for him to blow. Not many people have the guts to do this, so Shea has to give it to him, the kid's brave.

But when he starts calling him things like faggot, and whore and even combining them together because it is oh-so-clever, then Shea doesn't think twice about hitting the guy square on the jaw. And now Collin is staring back at him, a little shocked that Shea has finally gave in and proved how rough he is, how dangerous he can be. But Collin doesn't stop there, and Shea finds out that he's not only brave, but he's also stupid.

Hands turn into fists, and now he's in an all out brawl. Collin looks bigger than Shea and manages to hit him in the stomach, as he doubles over, pain seething through him like fire. His face is hit next and he swears his jaw may have broke. He does fight back as hard as he can but someone pulls them apart giving him enough time to leg it away as fast as his legs can carry him.

He doesn't look back, doesn't want to look back at the place but he's scared that's it for him. If he gets excluded for starting a fight (but he didn't really start it) then he would be done for and his mother would kill him, maybe even literally.

He spits blood onto the ground as he passes the school gates, swearing into the afternoon air, "I hope you all go to hell."

He's trudging down an alleyway, not knowing really where he's going but letting his feet lead the way. He's staggering his balance uncoordinated and he feels faint, knowing that if he stays like this for long then he would black out. He's out in the open on the streets and people are staring at him, at the bruises and the puffy red skin and the way his band shirt is dyed red.

He wants them to stop caring about a guy they don't even know and when one rushes towards him to try and help, he only reaches out his hands to push them away. Except, the person doesn't leave, he's only saying his name over and over again.

"Oh god, Shea, are you okay?"

He looks up and he's taken aback by the man who cares enough to come over and talk to him - it's Oliver, a scarf wrapped around his neck and a little bit of cerulean colored paint dotted on his neck.

"Does it look like I'm okay?" he manages to muster, but he's buckling over again and right into Oliver's awaiting arms.

He vaguely hears Oliver say something but he can't quite make it out.

-

Oliver spends most of his time now locked behind his study door, paint palettes surrounding him and a paint brush in hand. He's been set an assignment for his university course, but all he seems to be able to draw and paint is Shea, which should be ridiculously worrying. He doesn't know why he's so obsessed with the boy, he knows so many other things that could grab his attention, but Shea never seems to be able to leave his mind.

When he sees Shea on the street, face bruised and red the first thing he thinks is how beautiful he still looks and how amazing it would be to draw him right now. And that, that sickens him. His first thought should be one of worry, but instead he's thinking about his next painting and he's drawn too many of them now, they're cluttering his living space.

The thought of his art is drawn as far back in his mind as he can as he tries to deal with the matter of hand, specifically Shea. The boy collapses in his arms and Oliver's not quite sure what he should do with him, the boy needs to be checked up immediately because that red mark on his shirt does not look like a good sign at all.

Oliver acknowledges how curious he has become about this whole thing, he wants to know so badly what happened to Shea for him to get in this state and why anyone would want to damage a hair on him anyway.

From what he has seen, Shea isn't your run of a mill kind of person, he's different - a puzzle that he has to figure out. The pieces are scattered all over and he's only able to pick each one by one as if he's looking for them in a maze.

But he wants to know more, to understand more would mean that his paintings would really come to life, more so than they were at the moment. They were slightly inaccurate, only shadows of the true Shea Tully. He's probably crazy, and maybe Shea thinks that too.

Oliver takes him to the hospital and as soon as he gets there he's asked a million questions. They all stare at him like he is the one that got Shea to look like that, but he only smiles back at them, assures them that he has no idea how Shea got in that state and waits for Shea to be looked at. He waits by the boy's bedside for the while after he's checked out. Shea's still unconscious, but there isn't that much damage to his stomach, even though it looks like there was. Hes fractured his jaw a little and is on anesthetics, meaning that it won't hurt as bad for a while.

When Shea wakes up, his bright azure eyes crack open, taking in his surroundings until he meets Oliver's gaze across the room.

"Where am I?" he croaks out and tries to sit up before a shot of pain is sent through him and he realizes that that was a terrible idea.

"You're in a hospital," No shit, Shea thinks. "I found you on the street and you were beat up badly. What happened anyway?"

This is the question that Oliver's had in his mind for a long time, and he's curious, his body leaning further forwards. Shea's face scrunches up in thought (and the expression is rather endearing really) and then he remembers and his face darkens. "I got into a fight with an idiot," he mutters, "He started it."

Oliver shouldn't laugh at this, because it isn't funny, but he can't help the chuckle that escapes his lips. "You're quite the troublemaker, aren't you?" And he doesn't mean anything by it but the look Shea gives him makes him want to go back in time and smack himself hard around the face for even thinking it.

"I didn't think the first time we'd properly hang out with each other would be at a hospital," Shea mentions a good few minutes later, hand over his stomach as he breathes up and down, up and down.

He has a good point as Oliver never imagined this being how they spent their time getting to know each other so that they could go from acquaintances to real friends. He nods in agreement, legs stretching out from where he is sitting on a chair by Shea's bedside onto his bed.

"Alright then, tell me a bit more about yourself?" And Shea breathes in, finally getting the chance to talk to this guy without any worry of time or work and now he can make any impression on him that he wants. Strangely enough, he decides to be sincere about everything and then he's spilling his guts about himself until he's struggling to breathe. Oliver watches in wonder, every mannerism of this boy in front of him stunning him - and he's not quite sure why, but his heart aches for this boy, more than it should have been capable of.