apolla
❛ it's only love, nobody dies ❜
coleson harrison
the artist
Cole was a mess. Not figuratively, either, though he was sure his stepdad would argue that point. But literally-- the boy was a mess. He had paint and ash everywhere, despite the blanket he'd laid down under his easel. He had the window open, but still, the scent of the blunt he was smoking filled the room, and likely the entire apartment as well. Did he or his roommates care? Nooot a bit. With the blunt carefully tucked between his lips, he gave his most recent work a few light strokes of the paintbrush, humming along to the song playing through his speakers.
Though he wasn't in the music department as that was not where his talent lay, music was still a very important thing to him. He loved listening to it while he painted; he could easily get lost for hours on a single project. And when he reached out to touch the still wet paint with his fingers, fixing the mark he'd made, he would just brush the paint on his khaki pants, not a care in the world.
Inhaling, he grew momentarily distracted as the tip of the blunt lit up. Holding the smoke in his lungs, he reached for the blunt and took it from between his lips, blowing the smoke out a few moments later. Without looking, he reached for the ashtray that he swore he put on the table beside him, only he couldn't find it. A second before he turned his head to look though, his fingers brushed against the plastic thing, knocking it to the floor.
"Oops." Staring down at the mess of ashes, blunts, and cigarette butts on the carpet, he sighed heavily and set the paintbrush and paint down on the table. Sinking to his knees, he righted the ashtray, setting it back on the table and positioning the blunt carefully in it. Then he scooped the ashes and mess with his hands, tossing them back into it as well. His hands were positively worse now, but he just brushed them off on his pants and stood.
He grabbed the blunt again and took one more hit before carefully putting it out. The painting wasn't done, but it would have to wait if they were going to make it to the game. He glanced down at himself, shrugged, then turned away from the painting to move to his door. "Ay! Who's driving?" He shouted into the hallway, waiting a beat before one of them came back with a muffled 'you!'.
Figures. Ah, well, he drove better stoned anyway.
A short time later, the guys had gathered into the car and they were off. Cole actually did not drive better stoned, but he got them there in one piece. He parked on the curb thing when he finally pulled into a spot, but just left it there. The guys got out and headed for the ticket booth, where they each purchased one. "The games aren't that bad." He laughed at Nico's comments, shaking his head as they piled in through the gate.
Looking around as they entered, Cole spotted a few people he knew and gave them small waves or head nods. He hadn't given his outfit or appearance any further thought since looking at it earlier, though that was probably a reason for some of the stares. He ignored them as usual, heading to an area beside the bleachers where he could light up a cigarette. "It hasn't even started yet?" He asked, surprise lacing his tone. "I thought we were later than that."
Though he wasn't in the music department as that was not where his talent lay, music was still a very important thing to him. He loved listening to it while he painted; he could easily get lost for hours on a single project. And when he reached out to touch the still wet paint with his fingers, fixing the mark he'd made, he would just brush the paint on his khaki pants, not a care in the world.
Inhaling, he grew momentarily distracted as the tip of the blunt lit up. Holding the smoke in his lungs, he reached for the blunt and took it from between his lips, blowing the smoke out a few moments later. Without looking, he reached for the ashtray that he swore he put on the table beside him, only he couldn't find it. A second before he turned his head to look though, his fingers brushed against the plastic thing, knocking it to the floor.
"Oops." Staring down at the mess of ashes, blunts, and cigarette butts on the carpet, he sighed heavily and set the paintbrush and paint down on the table. Sinking to his knees, he righted the ashtray, setting it back on the table and positioning the blunt carefully in it. Then he scooped the ashes and mess with his hands, tossing them back into it as well. His hands were positively worse now, but he just brushed them off on his pants and stood.
He grabbed the blunt again and took one more hit before carefully putting it out. The painting wasn't done, but it would have to wait if they were going to make it to the game. He glanced down at himself, shrugged, then turned away from the painting to move to his door. "Ay! Who's driving?" He shouted into the hallway, waiting a beat before one of them came back with a muffled 'you!'.
Figures. Ah, well, he drove better stoned anyway.
A short time later, the guys had gathered into the car and they were off. Cole actually did not drive better stoned, but he got them there in one piece. He parked on the curb thing when he finally pulled into a spot, but just left it there. The guys got out and headed for the ticket booth, where they each purchased one. "The games aren't that bad." He laughed at Nico's comments, shaking his head as they piled in through the gate.
Looking around as they entered, Cole spotted a few people he knew and gave them small waves or head nods. He hadn't given his outfit or appearance any further thought since looking at it earlier, though that was probably a reason for some of the stares. He ignored them as usual, heading to an area beside the bleachers where he could light up a cigarette. "It hasn't even started yet?" He asked, surprise lacing his tone. "I thought we were later than that."
coded by natasha.
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