Who: Oliver and Scotty Where: Front walkway When: Mid-morning
In this weather shoveling was futile. He knew that. He accepted that. And he didn't give a fuck.
Outside the snow muffled the persistent noise coming from the upstairs statue. It wasn't music anymore, not after the hundredth time it invaded the walls, followed him in his morning routine, provided a backdrop to his argument with Edwin that morning.
Noise. Fucking noise. He wasn't sure he'd be able to hear that tune again without instictively getting angry.
Even now, out in the cold, he could hear it, barely. The sound of the shovel drowned it, and the further he got down the path the more relieving silence there was. By the time he got that far, enough snow had accumulated back towards the doorway that he could start his task all over again as many times as he wanted. There was no benefit really to doing it, not to anyone else in the house. Whenever he stopped the snow would just accumulate and render all of his work moot in an hour at best. No one was going to be heading into town today anyway. He was only doing it for himself, to focus on something, to wear himself out, to get that damn buzzing in his body to cut it the hell out for five minutes. He wanted to be so tired he couldn't think or move, or do anything but focus on the inevitable ache in his body rather than his chest by the time Edwin came back (Fine. He'd be fine. He'd be fine.). He was already hot and sweating under his warm winter layers, a stark contrast to the blanket of white that had already accumulated on him, so thick that it wouldn't be long before he looked like he belonged out there, blending in with his surroundings.
Crunch. Toss. Inhale.
Crunch. Toss. Step. Exhale.
The phone on full volume and the cigarette tucked in his inner chest coat pocket were only for him too. At first he'd thought about throwing music on as he worked, but that just made him think about Jack, and Simms, and noise. And if Edwin messaged him the ping might be drown out. He wasn't quite sure if the music would pause if a notification came in, but he sure as hell didn't want to chance it. As for the cigarette, Chase and Kiley were the only ones he knew for certain had any sort of supply, and the kid had looked at him a little strangely when he'd knocked, requesting one, but hadn't said anything about it. Good kid. Kids. Kiley's parting call to remind him that smoking "can kill you" almost made him want to smile. He would have on another day. He didn't. Oliver hadn't done more than take a slight whiff of it before tucking it away with a pair of matches, not even sure if he wanted to take the plunge after quitting for so long, but feeling better knowing that it was there in case he needed it.
Needed it. What the hell had he been thinking, even teasing the idea of digging into old and buried addictions just because he was having a rough day. Week. Year. He was half-tempted to toss it into a snowbank, but with them actually being so rare he'd rather return it to Chase and Kiley, even if it was a horrible habit. He wasn't their dad, let them figure that out for themselves. Let everyone figure their own shit out for a little while.