Rain Down On Me

Matt lights up a joint, rolling back onto the grass to stare up at the sky. Clouds drift lazily across the darkening sky in a glorious pinkish convoy. He sucks on his joint, feeling his cheeks glow strangely, and sends up a long thin grey ribbon to meet the clouds above his head.

“You fucking stoner,” a voice floats into his head, taking a few long seconds to connect to the right bits in his brain and a few seconds more to tumble into coherency. A sticky smile creeps across Matt’s face and he rolls idly onto his stomach to blink up at the looming shadow with heavy lids.

“Lo, Charlie,” he yawns, stretching like a cat in slow motion. His eyes slide shut and his face presses into the dewy grass. His smile stretches slightly as he hears the muffled thud of Charlie flopping onto the grass beside him.

“Gonna rain soon,” he says, tapping Matt’s nose. Matt frowns, swatting the finger away with a slow hand. Charlie’s hand shoots out and catches his wrist and he joint is prised from his limp fingers. Matt moans his lazy protestations, but the hand remains locked around his wrist, big and safe and warm. The hand squeezes Matt wrist gently ‘til he falls into a vague and nonplussed sleep, with the sun beating it’s goodbyes on his sticky forehead.

A few drops of amber beer spill from the can Matt clutches as he stumbles into his bedroom. Charlie turns his head a fraction and watches Matt waltz around the room from his place on the floor.  

“You,” Matt grins, waving the can in Charlie’s general direction. He staggers, and catches himself on the wall with swift fingers, but continues regardless. “You look like you’re making fucking snow angels. Or something. Yeah. Haha. Stone angels on the carpet! No. Snow. Won’t work, whatever the fuck it is.”
He nods adamantly, folding onto the floor like a puppet whose strings have been cut. He beams up at the faded blue curtains.

“I worry about you,” Charlie announced suddenly, turning his head that tiniest fraction to return his gaze to the grayish ceiling. Matt blinks across at him, squinting slightly in concentration.

“Yeah,” he says eventually, reaching out a drunken hand to rub Charlie’s bare foot sympathetically. Charlie sighs heavily, and his eyes glide shut. Matt smiles vaguely, crawling away and latching onto the windowsill with slippery fingers. He pulls himself up and stares unblinking out into the cloud-filled sky.

“Look,” he breathes, leaning forwards to press his forehead against the frosted glass. “It’s raining down on us.”