A Beautiful Thing

I recently watched Parked, and was extremely moved by it.
The acting was amazing from all involved, the storyline was heartbreaking and the soundtrack was phenomenal.

A short fic on Cathal's struggle with the withdrawal.
I was bored, so apologies if it sucks.
Please review. :)

He's laid in the front of Fred's car, stuffed half into Fred's sleeping bag in the make-shift bed.
He'd told Fred- No, he'd promised Fred that he was giving up. But he never realised it would be this hard. Never realised how much it would hurt.

His beanie was on the floor somewhere, lost during the tossing and turning. His skin was too tight, his body trying to turn itself inside out. Fred remained still, staring straight ahead in the driver's seat, Cathal shaking in his peripheral vision.

"Please, Fred. Please." he pleaded, hot tears rolling down his hollow cheeks. When no answer came, he curled in on himself, giving into the sobs wracking his body. He gritted his teeth, his lips slightly parted as he tried to control the shuddering. His eyes were screwed shut, his breath ragged as his stomach cramped.

"Fred...It's just...Just one hit. S'all I want. Just one. I need it, Fred. I can't do it. Please."

A shaking hand scrambled for the door handle, cold sea air flooding the car as Cathal puked onto the tarmac. His weak arms were barely holding him up, his sweaty grasp on the inside door handle the only thing keeping him inside the car. Fred's hand was on his back, steady and reassuring.

Strong arms helped the frail boy back into the seat, pulling the door shut. Fred's arms lingered around Cathal's body a little too long, almost holding the boy, but Cathal leaned into the touch, pulling in ragged breaths as he recovered.

Fred retreated to his own seat, surveying Cathal through his thick glasses as his eyes closed, shuddering as he leaned back into the seat. The tips of his ears and nose were red with the bitter cold. The sleeping bag had pooled around his thin hips. Without a word, Fred helped to pull the sleeping bag up to Cathal's chin, pausing before slipping Cathal's worn green beanie onto his head. He tried to ignore the sheen of sweat of Cathal's brow.

"You should try and sleep." Fred said.
Cathal just turned over. Staring at the door was easier than having to look at the hurt in Fred's eyes.

Night fell.
Cathal was sat rocking and pressing his gloved hand to his chapped lips. Beads of sweat formed on his pale brow as fat tears spilled over from his exhausted blue eyes - both illuminated by the small car lamp and the moonlight.

Fred took in the sight before him, the shadow of his friend. He knew the drugs were bad, but the withdrawal... For a moment, only a moment mind, he was considering giving in. Giving Cathal that one hit just so the poor boy could sleep, so he could stop shaking and puking and stop with the bloody begging that tore Fred apart from the inside out.

"Fuck, Fred," Cathal's skinny fingers were raking through his raven hair, slick with sweat. Breathing through gritted teeth, Cathal looked towards Fred.

"Fuck!" The edge in his voice made Fred wince, but he stayed silent, listening to Cathal shout and threaten.

"I fuckin' hate you, yeah? I-" he trailed off, bowing his head, shaking and whimpering. Kicking in the black sleeping bag, he swiped at his running nose.

"I fuckin'...I fu-" he whispered through the shaking, curled in on himself. "Fuck."

The ragged breathing in the car had steadied. Cathal was laying with his arms stretched above his head, his chapped lips parted, and his hair sticking up at the side. Fred watched the steady rise and fall of his chest, slowly reaching out to push Cathal's hair from his forehead.

The shivering was subsiding. And Cathal hadn't thrown up in almost twenty four hours. A smile crept over Fred's lips because maybe, just maybe, Cathal was going to make it.

The smile blossomed into a grin as he laid back in his seat. Starting to relax for the first time in a lifetime, Fred turned his gaze to the window. In that moments that followed, Fred witnessed the first leaf of autumn break from it's branch and flutter to the ground, the golden colours catching the sun's rays like an ember.

Fin.