The Smell Of Spray Paint

Six.

And he didn't remember a thing.

For once, I was the first to wake up. I didn't know the time but the sun was getting high in the sky so I assumed that it was late morning.

I felt so refreshed, maybe it was because I had the softness of the mattress instead of only the thin padding of my sleeping bag or that I had been heaving Gilbert around to tire me out the night before, but either way, it was kinda fun to wake up without some sort of back pain or a sense of fatigue from sleeping badly. HI hoped I'd get that more often.

I tried to rub my eyes and found that my glasses were still on my face. I must have just forgotten to take them off while I was fumbling around last night and getting all flustered.

I glanced over at Gilbert, obviously he had been kicking and rolling around in his sleep because the burrito I had made was totally ruined and only his knees and down were covered by the sleeping bag was just mostly sprawled over the floor. He was snoring loudly and he seemed to take up as much of the space he had as he could. He was so cute...

The scar that I had found yesterday was covered by one of his arms, the one he draped over himself, the other arm reached across the floor to look like he was stretching until his hand that was relaxed, his palm up and fingers curled.

I felt like I should go get breakfast... He always did it for me, making sure he got enough bread for us both and that he got it without raisins because he knew I hated raisins in bread. Maybe I should do the same for him... But it just seemed weird. This was the first time in about a month that I had woken up before him and now I just didn't know what to do.

But I didn't have to wait long, just as I was about to get up to at least put my clothes Gilbert stirred,

"Gil'!" I said excitedly, "Good morning!"

"Do not speak!" Were his first words as he blinked awake, his voice was croaky and his already red eyes seemed worse than usual, "What fucking year is it...?" He looked around, "And why the fuck am I in your bed?"

"Um... Well..." I knew he'd be mad, I busied myself by reaching for my scattered clothes, I was starting to feel exposed like this, "You were drunk and fell asleep, I tried to get you into bed but you really wouldn't shift! I made you a burrito and stuff with the sleeping bag though... I didn't just... Leave you there."

"Drunk?" He rubbed his face with both hands, "That is why then..."

"E-Explains what?" He looked positively dreadful.

"My hangover, dumkopf!"

"Oh..." That did make sense.

He flashed me a look. It was his apology for calling me a stupid head. Gilbert didn't do apologies, but over the past month I had sorta learned his look of remorse. I smiled when he caught my eye, showing that I understood and he cleared his throat,

"Jesus... I am too cool to feel so shitty... I never get hangovers! What is with me?!" He was clearly frustrated and with a good reason. He would never get any work done when he looked and felt like that.

"You did drink more than usual..."

He gave a resigned sigh, "Just give me another one. The best way to stop a hangover is getting drunk again."

"No!" I said a little too loudly, making him wince and me slap my hands over my mouth, not meaning to hurt him, "No..." I repeated, this time softly, "Don't you have any aspirins or painkillers?"

He shook his head, "I am a homeless man, Mattie."

"So?"

"I get beers and cigarettes like most homeless men, not whole foods and medication. You think I can afford that?"