The hot stench of alcohol washed over him, causing his nostrils to flare and his nose hair to sting. He'd smelt it numerous times before, but it was an accumulated scent and he was sure it'd take him quite some time to get used to it yet. He cracked an eye open as he felt a pair of arms wrapping around his neck and he glanced up, smiling at the boy who stood behind the couch, leaning into him.

Well, calling the newcomer was a boy wasn't neccessarily an understatement. He was definitely a man, his years adding up to a mere 25. He definitely took advantage of that age, not quite in the best way, as many would agree, but he truly was a child at heart. He loved Disney movies and could watch them forever and he couldn't resist climbing onto the mechanical horses at the grocery stores, paying twenty five cents for "endless fun and entertainment." In reality, of course, when the rocking horse ride literally lasts a minute.

The childish brunette's name was Coen. Coen Woods. His eyes were a light cinnamon brown, his fluffy-looking hair in a disarray on top of his head and when he smiled, his eyes crinkled, causing his grin to brighten nearly anyone's day. He was always wearing some kind of leather jacket, whether it was brown or black, he had a different one on every day of the week.

So, as Coen stepped up to the back of the couch to lean down and whisper a few things into the ear of the blonde before him, the boy smiled widely back at him, a light blush on his cheeks.

The blonde's name was Ansel. Ansel Engrove. And this particular 24-year old had had much more than ten times his share of endured traumatic experiences.

Ansel had bright, light blue eyes that seemed to absorb nearly everything around him. He was extremely observant and that had both helped and hurt him multiple times before. His blonde, almost white hair seemed to match his pale complexion perfectly as it swooped over his forehead, resting over the majority of his light eyebrows. He was often caught, sweeping his hair back out of his face and Coen always nagged him to cut it so he wouldn't be messing with it all the time. Ansel always pretended not to hear him.

"I made some coffee," Coen told him in a soft tone with a smile. Ansel nodded and felt his arms disappear from around his neck, the boozy smell diminishing some, hearing his footsteps disappear into another room of their apartment. The blonde reluctantly stood, walking into the kitchen, his slippers scuffed on the heated, concrete floor as he carried a gray-covered book with him, engrossed in the pages.

He stopped beside the counter, not daring to move his eyes from the words in the slight fear he might miss some important event or exchange between the characters. Ansel carefully held the open book in his left hand, his right hand's fingers curling around the coffee pot's handle, tipping the black coffee into the mug Coen had set out on the counter for him. He ignored the vanilla-flavored sweetener that sat beside the coffee machine, putting the pot back; all of his motions prolonged and slow since the majority of his attention was trained on his book.

Ansel wrapped his hand around the mug, lifting it to his lips and taking a sip of the plain drink as his eyes widened. It wasn't the scalding heat of the coffee, while it did burn his tongue and throat, that wasn't what had startled him. Of course, his eyes just had to skim ahead a few more paragraphs and he saw something he probably wasn't supposed to. He clenched his jaw, setting his coffee down for a moment to grab the book and focus his blue irises on the musty book, going back to reread what he just missed.

Coen appeared beside the upset blonde, having slunk into the kitchen silently, taking in his expression and peeking over his shoulder at the book he'd already read. The leather-laden male couldn't help but snicker, causing Ansel to lose his focus and glare over at him, his mouth gaping slightly at the slight fact that he thought this whole event was funny.

"Aw, hey, don't be sad," Coen cooed softly, smiling at the tears in Ansel's eyes over the most recent character death. Ansel glared stubbornly back at him, but gave a little nod, his expression melting away as he grinned weakly and closed the book, setting it down beside his coffee mug, sniffling.

Coen opened his arms wide, letting Ansel stagger into them and wrap his arms around him tightly. The brunette hugged him back tightly, running his hands through the blonde's soft hair, resting his head against his. Ansel pulled away after a moment, swiping at his eyes with the sleeve of his baggy gray sweater while Coen simply crossed his arms over his chest, dressed in a red and black flannel, his signature black leather jacket draped over his shoulders.

"I still can't believe you don't put creamer in your coffee," Coen sighed with a shake of his head, an amused smile on his face as he looked Ansel up and down. The blonde simply shrugged in response, giving him a sheepish grin, grabbing his mug again and offering his coffee up to him.

Coen made a face, wrinkling up his nose and shaking his head in distaste, pushing it back to him. "I'm gonna have to pass," he laughed softly. He furrowed his brow as he watched Ansel shrug and drink his "delicious" coffee. He narrowed his eyes, taking in his scrawny stature. "You haven't been eating anything, have you?"

His words caught Ansel short and he stiffened, slowly taking his time to pull his mug from his face, his gaze on the ground as he wiped his lips with his sleeve.

"Look at me," Coen commanded in a sharp tone of voice, all the soft crinkles next to his eyes and lips vanishing almost instantly as his expression hardened into something more serious in less then a split second.

Ansel hesitantly glanced up to him, his eyes flickering away from his gaze nearly every five seconds, not able to hold his steady gaze that seemed to bore into his soul. The dark black liquid vibrated slightly in his mug as his hand trembled. The frail blonde swallowed hard, finally holding his gaze for longer than ten seconds and Coen decided to speak in the small gap Ansel offered him.

"Ans, we've been over this," he said in a slow tone as if he was willing himself not lash out at him, knowing he was sensitive to certain things. "We both know you haven't been eating and we both know you need to. When did you stop?"

Ansel gulped, knowing he was going to get an earful about this. His eyes found the floor again as he held up a hand with his five fingers outward. He heard Coen suck in a breath and peeked up to see the brunette turn away, running a hand through his messy hair and pinching the bridge of his nose.

The blonde's eyes blinked a few times before looking up at him completely with a sincerely guilty expression. Coen turned back around to face him, his frowning doing hard to cover up his anger. He stepped back towards him, putting his hands firmly on Ansel's shoulders. "Look, I'm not going to give you a whole, long speech like last time, okay?" He asked, earning Ansel's nod. "But promise me you'll start looking after yourself, please? You know I'm not here all the time during the day. And you know that."

Ansel gave another nod, holding up his pinky finger which made Coen's ice cold expression to melt immediately and he smiled widely. He lifted his pinky as well, wrapping it around Ansel's and giving it a firm shake, causing Coen to shake his head and laugh softly. Even Ansel cracked a small smile at him.

Coen grinned at him and turned and padding out of the room, disappearing from the kitchen. Ansel watched him go, a small knot started to grow in his stomach, gnawing at his insides once his source of sanity left the room and he grew anxious, holding his coffee mug tightly to himself. He abandoned his book on the counter, trailing into the entry hall after him, letting out a sigh of relief as he saw Coen sitting on the ground before the door, shoving his feet into his shoes.

The brunette looked over his shoulder, smiling back up at him as he got to his feet again, brushing himself off. His beloved old fashioned, dark blue polaroid camera hung around his neck. He grabbed a white scarf and padded over to Ansel, wrapping the scarf around the small blonde's neck.

"Look, how about me and you head down to the park so I can take a few pictures and you can read a bit?" Coen asked him with a smile. Ansel beamed widely at him, giving an energetic nod. He headed into the kitchen to grab his book and set his mug down.

"Well, c'mon, then!" Coen's voice called, drifting throughout the apartment.

Coen didn't wait for a response. He opened the apartment door, padding out of it and out into the hallway. Well, it's not like he was expecting a reply anyways.

Ansel didn't speak. Period.

He was mute. And he had been speech-impaired every since he was eight.