Give Up

Josh watches the exhausted looking man leave, confusion written all over his face. Who was he? Clearly some weird artist type. Evident by the tattoos that ran up and down his arms, and even up his neck. Josh swore there was even a tattoo on the side of the man's face, but maybe it was just a shadow.

Josh could never do that. His parents would kill him first. Besides, a tattoo always seems like a cool idea at first, but then you just end up regretting it. Right? Right.

Josh sits down where the man was previously, and wonders what he could have even been doing out so late.

Weird artist types. Going out at the crack of dawn or in the middle of the night to chase inspiration. Josh totally wasn't doing that.

He was just walking around in the park by himself at three-something in the morning because he couldn't sleep. Again.

It always happened on Sundays. He just didn't sleep well on Sunday nights.

He never slept at all on Sunday nights.

That's been for as long as he could remember, though. Ever since he was little, he just never slept well on Sundays. Maybe it was because he always dreaded going to school.

As a kid, Josh was good at school. He was great at school, honestly. He didn't have to put in much effort to pull off an A. That carried him all the way through high school, and even into college.

Josh was just good at remembering.

He had friends, too. Lots of friends. There was Dan, Matt, Sean, Aled, Max... Josh could name all of his friends. They're still friends. Well, most of them. He remembers a kid from his graduating class he was friends with got arrested.

Funny, he can't remember his name. Something with an A, maybe. Or was it an I?

Josh scowls as he stares at a streetlight in the distance. His mind always wandered back to that kid's name when he wasn't thinking very consciously. It was just one of those little things that irritated him.

Maybe he blocked it out.

Josh cracks his neck and yawns. He's tired, but he can't bring himself to get up just yet. He'd rather not go back to the campus yet. He felt out of place, the only Brit in a sea of rich, spoiled American college students. Maybe he wasn't the only British student, but he's yet to meet another.

Private school. What a joke.

Josh had the grades to go anywhere. Any Ivy league in the states, any school back home, but no. He had to go to some private school that his parents went to.

His parents never gave two shits about what he wanted to do, ever. Even before college.

If only Josh knew what he wanted to do, though.

He liked music. He liked English. He liked football. Those are really his three main interests. Maybe he could combine the three somehow. Write a song using big words about football.

The thought makes him smile, just a little. He glances at his watch. Four. He groans and gets up. At least he doesn't have any morning classes tomorrow. He should at least try to sleep, though.

This walk was a dumb idea anyway. He's just cold now, and he doesn't feel any more or less tired. At least campus isn't far.

***

When Oliver gets back to his apartment, he tosses his sketchbook onto the kitchen table. Then he makes his way to the bathroom, where he splashes water onto his face.

He's trying to shake the thoughts of loneliness out of his mind. It's difficult. He shakes his head as he walks across the hall to his bedroom. He kicks his shoes off and sheds his clothes, down to his boxers. Yawning as he gets into bed, he shuts his eyes and tries to sleep.

It doesn't work.

Even as he tries to shut his mind down, he can't stop thinking back to his thoughts in the park. He sits up slowly. He shakes his head, as if that will help to clear his mind.

He sighs and looks at the time. Quarter to four.

He figures that he'll check his email, see if anyone's commissioned him or something. He gets out of bed and sits down at his computer desk.

'Please... please...'

Lucky for Oliver, some one has commissioned him. On his personal blog, but whatever. Twenty bucks is twenty bucks. The commissioner has sent him a reference for their character and everything, with exactly what they want and how they want Oliver to do it.

God, Oliver wants to marry this guy.

He sends back a message, just saying that he'll do it. He'll get paid once it was finished. He starts it right away, setting his tablet up in front of him.

It definitely helps to get his mind off of his thoughts. It's easier to think about the task at hand, rather than what has been plaguing his thoughts previously.

He finishes the commission at six in the morning. He takes a lot of time to make sure it looks nice, then saves it to his desktop. He'll send it back to the guy later tonight, just so he doesn't seem too eager. Although he kind of is. He needs that twenty, considering he doesn't exactly have a stable job. He kind of got fired from his last one, considering he didn't show up some days.

That's fine, he didn't like the people there anyway. And he was job hunting. Really, he was. It was just something that didn't happen over night. So right now, this was it.

He'd love to be able to make a living off his art, like a real, stable living, but that's difficult. You have to be crazy good, and you have to get noticed.

Oliver didn't think he was all that amazing, and he liked to stay in the background. So he put it on his 'never gonna happen, don't even dream it' list.

Currently, that was the only thing on his list. Mostly because his therapist told him to be more positive, so he took everything else off it. Subconsciously, maybe everything that was on there was still there.

He stands up from his desk and stretches, feeling the ache in his muscles start to set in. That always happens when he has a sleepless night; his muscles ache.

Oh well, he tells himself. He'll just have to get over it, as usual. He's worked through worse pains, and besides, it's nothing tylenol can't fix. Now that his mind is clear, he debates going back to sleep. It'd probably help how he feels.

His perpetual state of 'alright' seems okay, but... maybe it's slipping.

He's afraid it's slipping.

Oliver rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck. Yes, a nap is in order. It'll make him feel better, no doubt.

He climbs into bed and shuts his eyes, telling himself to relax for what feels like the hundredth time that day. Slowly, ever so slowly, sleep comes to him.