Coffee and Cigarettes

In that short space of time, it's safe to say that Shea has learned a lot about the boy opposite him and even though the circumstances of how they got to this point should deter him, he is kind of thankful that it was Oliver who had helped him out when he was in need of someone to help him.

This whole thing has given him more of a reason to find out about Oliver's life, and he loves watching the older boy smile at the thought of his university life and at the mention of all the pieces he's done over the past year. He's telling him a story of his life, and doesn't interrupt, doesn't want to because he's just too transfixed by Oliver to even get a word in himself.

He's enjoying every single minute he has with Oliver, and he wants to savor it, wants to remember it so when he's back home and back to his lonely life, he'll remember that he has, in some ways, made a friend.

Shea also notices that Oliver has this particular mannerism when he speaks, he licks his lips every once in a while to stop them from getting dry and when he's thinking of what to say next, his eyes will scrunch up tight in thought, his brow furrowing. This is extremely endearing Shea, and he adds it to the list of why he should get to know Oliver outside of the cafe.

Oliver stops talking for a second, his bright emerald eyes so alive in this moment. "I want to draw you for an assignment," he looks down, seeming to be embarrassed about this fact as he continues, "If you don't mind."

The little sketchbook of his that has become a complete trademark of the artist can be seen peaking out of Oliver's bag. Shea's seen the many sketches in there that are of him, and he's forgotten about how some of them were so strange and frightening, that now he remembers, he's not sure whether he wants to agree to what Oliver's asking.

He doesn't understand why the other boy's so interested in him in the first place, he's normal, from what he can see, although a little bit troubled. He's not a piece of art that someone like Oliver could become so entranced by, he's known people who could fit into this category because they truly were beautiful people. While Shea doesn't think he's like that, he's broken and even the bruises on his face and the dried blood on his stomach proves that.

He doesn't say anything though, he stays quiet as if that could make the subject go away. Oliver's worried now, because he can see the look in the younger's eyes, can feel it radiating throughout the room and stabbing him like a knife. He wants to know where that look stems from and whether he can fix it.

Oliver has a feeling that Shea doesn't want to agree to what he's asking, and Oliver wants him to do so bad that he just can't take no for an answer. So he stands up from where he has been perched down on a seat for the past few hours or so and walks towards Shea's hospital bed. He has no clue what he's doing, or why the need to draw Shea with permission is controlling him so, but he's moving anyway, despite the questions in his head.

"Please," he sounds like he's begging, but his voice is as controlled as it can be, "You're the only person that I want to draw."

And Shea's confused about this because there are so many other people in the world, so many people who are more interesting than he is. He can't fathom why Oliver is doing this, and he wants to, he wants to be able to understand the other boy, but he can't.

"Why?" he asks, the question finally out in the open.

Oliver's expression now matches Shea's identically. To him, the answer is obvious and he wishes that Shea could see what he sees. The only way to do this is to portray it through lines of charcoal, darkening here and there and becoming lighter where Shea's soul is, where his eyes are full of life and vitality. And the paint he could use - the many colors of vibrant and spectacular blue, the chocolate shine of his hair and the skin tone (which he has found so far is the hardest to find, but Oliver likes a challenge) - that is what makes it so interesting.

Shea's not easy to paint or to draw, he's the hardest thing Oliver's ever come across in his life as an artist. But that's what makes him more determined for Shea to say yes, so they can explore the different colors and shades together.

Oliver doesn't know really how to answer Shea's question, it's a difficult one because he thought that Shea would know the answer to it himself. But he finally has it, the words stuck in his head and spinning around majestically.

"You're intriguing," he settles with, "Your personality itself is different. From what I know of you, you try to be brave and strong so you don't show your weaknesses. But inside you're..." And he's careful with what he's trying to say next, because he can see the way that Shea's staring at him suspiciously and if he chooses the wrong word his blossoming friendship with Shea could be destroyed in an instant.

So he calms down his rapidly beating heart, takes a deep breath, and just says it. "Inside you're beautiful."

It's like with that one word, Shea doesn't know to be himself. His eyes widened because no one has ever said that to him, and he's certain that Oliver is the first. But what's beautiful about him? From what he can see, he really isn't. He's far from that. However, he's flattered, and the prospect of agreeing to what Oliver wants only seems like a better idea, because maybe that could change his whole life around.

He doesn't realize that he's close to tears until he blinks, one tiny droplet rolling down his cheek and the fact that he's crying disgusts him. He's never cried before, never in his entire life, and now he's crying in front of a person who he's only known for a few weeks. He gulps down the feelings that are threatening to tighten their grip around his throat as he takes a shaky breath, the tears subsiding.

He says it, voice as confident and as clear as he can muster, "Yes, okay, I'll do it."

Maybe it's the way that Oliver's eyes brighten at these few words that make Shea want to crawl away from him because he can't take it. He can't take so much kindness.

-

He's arranged to meet up with Oliver once again on the following Friday, and heck, he's more excited than he should really be. The Friday is only two days away, and Shea hasn't been able to keep still. He is admitted from hospital the day after when his mum comes to pick him up and instead of asking him what happened and being a worrying mum like she should be - she only yells in his face.

It isn't like Shea is expecting her to be nice and caring, she isn't like that. She jumps to conclusions, thinking that the state that Shea is in is completely his fault. He was only defending himself from Collin, if he hadn't, the condition he is in might have been worse. But nothing he can say to her can make her think better of him, so for the whole car ride, he stays quiet.

He finds out that he's also been suspended from school for a few days, and that makes him even more miserable, despite the fact that he hates his college. He doesn't want to be stuck inside of his house for the next how many days, because he knows it will be the equivalent to hell, or possibly even worse.

So, he calls up Ivan after he's heard the news of his suspension, praying that his boss would become his friend in this instant. He waits for Ivan to pick up, and when he does, he begins to worry that he'll say no. "What's up?" Ivan asks, knowing that it's Shea on the other line.

Shea decides to lie, because he knows that if he tells Ivan about his suspension then there'll be too many questions, and he can't take that. So he doesn't tell him everything - so really, that isn't lying, is it?

"I don't have any school today," he starts off, trying to sound as genuine as can be, "So I was wondering if you needed any help in the cafe?"

He can feel Ivan's suspicion as if it's passing through the phone, and he knows that Ivan knows that he is a terrible liar. It takes everything he has not to spill out his guts and confess everything then and there. Luckily, Ivan doesn't ask any questions.

"Yeah, I suppose. Pash isn't coming in until 1 because of...well, you know Pash things. So you could take over his shift, if you wanted," he suggests, and Shea finds himself smiling from ear to ear, incredibly happy at this news.

"Thank you so much, Ivan! You're the best, I'll be there soon," he informs him, hanging up the phone as he practically runs down the stairs of his house and jets out of the door.

He doesn't think too much about why Pash is once again blowing off his shift. He's surprised that the boy hasn't been fired yet because he always seems to be doing something else rather than what he's supposed to be doing. He's decided that at some point he's going to find out where Pash goes to when he's not at work, no matter if Pash gets angry at him for 'stalking him'.

Again, it doesn't take too long for Shea to get to the cafe, and when he does get there, Ivan's waiting for him in the cafe, seeming to be in a bit of a panic from the lack of staff. The expression on his face fades when he spots Shea, and he calms down, walking over to Shea as the younger boy signs in, changing into his work attire.

"So where's Pash anyway?" he inquires curious, although he knows as well as Ivan that neither of them have a clue where he is.

Ivan shrugs, watching one of the younger members (who's a year younger than Shea) nearly tripping over. He sighs, exasperated.

"God fucking knows," he curses, his voice getting quieter to avoid drawing attention to their conversation, "That boy is never where he should be these days. I swear, it's almost like he's leading a double life or something."

Shea has changed completely now, and he snorts at what Ivan has just said. "If he is leading a double life it's not as a superhero. He's likelier to be a super villain."

He laughs to himself regarding this thought because it's absolutely ridiculous but he can so imagine it in his head. Pash was evil, terribly so, so if he was harboring some secret, he'd be a super villain for sure.

And just as Ivan is about to say something else, another joke that will make Shea feel better about everything. The door to the cafe slams open, and all the hope that today would go by without any trouble is thrown out of the window.

"Where is he?" It's Jonah, the cocky, rude boy that Oliver's apparently best friends with.

His eyes lock on to Shea and Ivan when he sees them across the room, and despite the looks that other people are giving him, he carries on storming towards them, his face beetroot red with fury.

"Who are you talking about?" Ivan questions, unsure.

Jonah calms down for a second - but only a second - until the name slides off his tongue and fulled with spite. "I'm talking about fucking Pash."

Pash, at this moment, was probably enjoying himself elsewhere, oblivious to the chaos that was beginning to stir in the cafe.