Song: Wrecking Ball - Mother Mother
TW: drug usage, alcohol, possible emotional abuse
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James woke up in a room he recognized. It had been a long time since that happened. Him and Frances, who he affectionally referred to as Effie, had now been "a thing" for a month and three days. James had remembered the hours, but Frances shut that down. Found it weird. He rolled over, the blanket that he'd wrapped himself up in moving with him. He felt... warm. When he opened his eyes to spot Frances beside him, he felt warmer. The room was a mess, old posters peeling from the wall, a broken ashtray nearly tipping over on the beside table, but... it was perfect. To James, anyways.

The two of them got fucking wasted the night before, which seemed like a growing habit. James wasn't sure if he liked it, but Frances insisted it was fine. It wasn't every night, so it was fine. At least that's what Frances had said, and James had trusted him. At this point, he'd trust the man eith his life. Despite the piercing pain in his head, James forced himself to sit up, Frances pulling him back down and back into his arms.

"Mmph... wanna stay like this..." He'd murmured into James' hair, causing the younger to laugh. In the past month, he'd learned a lot more about Frances. His full name was Francesco, he was 23, and was raised in Jersey. James didn't really need help figuring out the last part though, the voice was more than enough to go on. Slowly, James turned his head, facing his Effie with a sleepy smile.

"You always wanna stay in bed..." James hummed, closing his eyes once again. "We gotta get up sometimes, Eff. You have work..." Frances worked as a barista, because of course he did, but he hated his job. He'd always wanted to be a tattoo artist. James would never tell him, but his drawings were shit. At the mention of work, Frances opened his eyes. They were bloodshot. James missed seeing them clearly, but... he was just tired. Probably.

After dragging himself out of bed, Frances hunted through the piles of dirty clothing for his uniform, leaving James to wrap the blanket around his shoulders. Soon enough, Frances had pulled his shirt over his shoulders, James smiling softly.

"You look cute in your little mermaid shirt." He laughed, receiving a glare in return. His brain told him it was playful. After a moment of silence, James searched the side of the bed for his clothing, realizing that he wasn't clothed. They'd probably been thrown out at some point last night. James wished he remembered.

As James dressed himself, Frances had run off to the bathroom. He'd sighed, watching as the door shut. Frances was nice. Wonderful, actually. He just... he wished he would be more emotionally available sometimes. He ruffled through the clothes to hunt for Effies jacket, digging out the pack of smokes from the pocket. Frances had gotten him a lighter, a pink one with a butterfly on it. James held that thing on his person at all times. He'd left the bedroom soon enough, passing by the bathroom door. He could have sworn he heart rattling, which caused James to pause. He knocked on the door, causing all noises to cease.

"James, I swear to god,  just let me shit in peace." Frances was too close to the door to be on the toilet. James knew that. However, James also knew better than to argue back. He stepped back, letting out a sigh before walking back to he balcony.

He'd grown fond of his morning cigarettes, especially now that he wasn't the one sneaking them out of gas stations. James couldn't wait until he turned 21. Three more years. He leaned on the railing, watching the sunrise as he embraced the morning quiet. James loved the mornings. No matter where he was, they were always so... peaceful.

Five minutes in, he felt a pair of arms sneak around his waist, lips attaching themselves to his neck. James leant back, letting out a sigh. "... I wasn't trying to scare you baby..." Effie spoke softly, James simply nodding.

"I... I know. But you need to know what I'm just worried about you, okay?" James' voice mirrored the others, though it sounded more sincere. Frances didn't respond, which annoyed James a bit, but he had to ignore it.

The next ten minutes were quiet. James didn't like this silence, it wasn't comfortable like the others. It felt as if they were both trying to think of what to say, but were speechless. Eventually, Frances left for work, saying something about wishing James could come with him. He didn't want to go, today was supposed to be a quiet day.
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James stood at the stove hours later, stirring up a pot of whatever random soup can he could find. He knew he needed a job, but nobody seemed to want him. His body had gotten used to the same thing for dinner, so it almost didn't seem worth it. As he doled the soup out into a bowl with an impossibly small spoon, he felt the apartment shake as the door slammed open. Frances had a bad day. With an eye roll, he put the bowl down, prepared to comfort him.

Frances, however, had no intentions in being comforted. "We're going out." He spoke sharply. At that, James frowned. Out? "... Pierce is having a party. I need a drink, and I'm not leaving you here alone, so... we're going out."

Part of James just wanted a simple dinner at a restaurant. Hell, takeout from McDonald's would have been nice. They always "went out", and it always ended up with the both of them unable to remember anything the next day. To James, it ruined the whole point, but... Frances always said he needed a break. What was so fucking stressful about being a Starbucks barista, James would never know.

The two of them ate their soup in silence, some shitty reality show blaring on the tv. The volume had been broken for a week. Frances tried to fix it, but after he was shocked, it was put to rest. Eventually, Frances left to shower. James turned down the offer to join him, knowing full well that no washing would be done if he did. Secretly, James hoped that things tonight would be different.

And they would be. Just not in the way James would have wanted.