The next day Norman doesn't find the customary "mornin Pup!" message as he groggily gets out of bed. The chances that Sean is still asleep at 13:00 are pretty much non-existent; the man is a fucking lark and never misses out on his morning runs. If the short conversation yesterday didn't indicate that something is off, then this sure as hell does. In fact, it rings a huge-ass, loud bell.

Trying to ignore another passing pang of bitterness, Reedus carries on his usual routine — cleaning up, pulling on his well-worn jeans and a grey sweater, feeding Eye In The Dark and having a smoke on the way to the small coffee shop he likes to visit at the start of his day.

He is, after all, a creature of habit.

Today is clear of any appointments or work-related shit, so he decides to simply enjoy a casual stroll through the park.

That, of course, is the moment his new girlfriend decides to give him a call.

Picking up the phone, Norman tries to sound as normal as possible, even if he feels like shit and talking to her does nothing to improve his already sourpuss mood.

He pauses his gait, stuffing one hand in the pocket of his jeans.

"Hey babe, what's up?" years of practice come in handy at sounding upbeat and carefree.

The girl gives a tinkering laugh through the phone, "Hey beautiful! Figured you'd still be asleep, so I wanted to make sure you were up and around at least by three!"

He doesn't fucking get since when it became her fucking business. Do women always tighten the reins at the three-day-mark after getting into a relationship? He feels irked, but decides to let it slip and be polite instead. The girl doesn't need to be blamed for his mood-swings or his un-boyfriend-like behaviour. No, of course not.

Sean does.

There mere thought of him makes his blood boil and tension sip into his back. Norman rolls his shoulders, trying to ease the tightening of the muscles and looks everywhere but ahead of him. He can hear the birds singing and the gentle buzz of children's voices somewhere further up the alley. It's a nice day. Well, it would be.

"Um, yeah, sure. I'm up. Thanks for worrying though." He knows he sounds kind of airy, but he honestly can't bring himself to catch every word uttered by Alicia.

"Well, what are you up to? Want to meet for lunch?" She sounds excited and Reedus has to swallow the guilt crawling its way up his chest.

He licks his lips and thinks about it for a second. "Actually, I was having a walk in the park... But I guess lunch does sound nice." Norman hasn't really eaten apart from that bagel with his morning coffee, so the prospect of food seems to be rather appealing at the moment. Never mind his lacking desire for company.

"Great! Then come meet me at Drifters in an hour?"

"Sure. See you later, babe."

She makes a kissing noise and he winces. Looks like everything about Alicia miffs him now. He doesn't even remember why he'd asked her out in the first place. Probably her pretty smile, long brown hair and kind, wide eyes that reminded him of a doe.

The fact that he was drunk off his ass adds up to that list as well. In fact, it's right at the fucking top of it.

He makes it to Drifters in just under fifty minutes, surprised when he actually sees her waving at him from the table across the room. He would've expected her to be late.

Smiling despite his somber mood, Norman makes his way towards the brunette and bends down, briefly kissing her on the cheek. After all, she doesn't deserve to deal with his crap.

This thought keeps on running through his head, helping him control the inner turmoil.

She looks pretty.

Fuck, does he want to smash something against the table and saddle up his bike, only to drive for hours without a real purpose. That would definitely help him clear his head.

Okay, so maybe he's overreacting a bit.

Okay, maybe more than a bit. But he wants to, thinks he deserves to have a tantrum, a breakdown.

After all the crap Flanery's put him through? Yeah, he's allowed to be pissed as hell and desire to break stuff. Let off some steam.

Fuck Sean and his two-facedness.

He can't help but feel like a two-faced liar himself as he tries to avoid Alicia's gaze.

"Hey babe, you're fast" Norman slides into the opposite side of the booth, hearing her chuckle and briefly wondering why couldn't he like a light, tinkering laugh instead of a loud, boisterous one. One way or another, the sound of her tender voice helps him snap out of his bitter mental tirade, if only for a minute.

"Oh well, next time just let me know if you want me to validate the myth about women's tardiness. I can always arrange that" She gives him a brilliant smile and Norman realises she's flirting with him. He feels a bit flustered and uncomfortable with the whole situation, now that he's sober. Still, he suddenly appreciates the distraction from his gloomy thoughts.

He gives a little snort and shakes his head, picking up the menu and busying himself with choosing the food, so that he doesn't have to look at her for more than five seconds at a time. Not that she's offputting, quiet the opposite, actually. All long legs, flaring hips and tan skin. She could've easily been a model, if she chose to. But she's an artist instead. In fact, they've met at her presentation and seemed to hit it right off from the start, carrying on to the after party.

"Ah, no, thanks" He chuckles, "I'd rather have you on time than wait. Besides, unconventional is good."

Alicia nods and brings up her own menu, studying what appears to be the salad section of the page.

This sparks another thought of Sean. Health-freaks. He seriously doesn't know how some people willingly deprive themselves of all the good, greasy stuff. He sure as hell can't and won't. He likes his calories and tastebud-paradise, thank you very much. Besides, he gets to burn off all of that stuff during filming, what's with the hot Georgian sun and so much running in the woods.

When the waitress comes, Norman gives her a small smile and places their order.

"So, how you've been, babe?" Reedus looks up at Alicia, unconsciously playing with the edge of his napkin, folding and unfolding it in a repeating succession. At least he tries to make a decent conversation.

"Not bad. Actually, I've received an invitation to some fancy art-show yesterday. They're asking me to contribute a couple of works and I'm considering doing it. What do you think?" Norman doesn't see her eyes sparkling with excitement, because he's staring at his hands.

"Norman?" She tries again, louder this time.

"Huh?" He snaps out of his reverie and looks up, noticing the silent question burning in her eyes.

"Ah, sorry, got a bit, yanno, lost in thoughts. Sorry. Could you ask that again?"

Instead of rolling her eyes like he would've expected her to, Alicia smiles and nods, repeating herself without a bother.

"Yeah, I think that'd be great." He tries to sound excited and pay closer attention as she launches into another story about one exhibition or the other. But he catches only snippets of information, nodding and going as far as to smile when she starts using her hands in pure excitement.

Sometime through their meal Alicia puts her utensils down and looks seriously at Norman.

"Is everything okay? You're awfully quiet."

Reedus gives a gentle chuckle after swallowing down a piece of meat "Yeah, I'm good, don't worry." He prays to God she hasn't noticed his absentmindedness and lack of interest in the conversation. He might be a sucker for art, but all the fancy talk about the business part of it? Definitely not his pick. "I'm pretty introverted, you know. I'd rather listen than talk." She looks a bit surprised, so he decides to clarify himself "But you can't shut me up when I'm drunk."

Alicia laughs at his blunt statement, seeming to catch onto his words. However, this doesn't seem to faze her too much.

"That's alright. I guess there's still a lot to learn about each other, huh? And I love a good listener. Especially when he's such a handsome devil." She smirks and narrows her eyes at him, and Norman feels his fingers clasp the tattered napkin harder. He doesn't do well with compliments, although he should be used to receiving them by now.

It's still awkward as fuck.

"You're not so bad yourself, sweetheart." He tries to return the compliment.

"Why thanks!" Her laughter rings in his head long after they leave and part ways, him kissing her on the cheek and pulling away, only to be caught off-guard by her hand on his neck and a chaste, sweet kiss to the lips.

He smokes four cigarettes on the way home, head pounding with a heavy, swarming mess dabbed as his thoughts. It's autumn, but Norman feels too hot, too bothered in his long-sleeved turtleneck. He can feel the sweat rolling down between his shoulder-blades. Breathing becomes a conscious task, taking each step even more so. It's like he's suddenly hyper aware of his body and it makes him want to throw up.

He wishes he could barf his thoughts out too, along with his meal.

His mind, it's all a mess about Sean, and Alicia, and cons, and Mingus, and Sean, and Alicia, SeanSeanSean.

The bitter pang of pain come surging again, and with it comes the anger. He doesn't remember how he gets home, just blindly slams the keys into the hole, jiggling them around to twist the locks open. All the while he can feel each intake of his breath, fingers going slightly numb. Finally, he rushes inside with a cool breeze of air.

He doesn't exactly remember how he pulls off his sweater either. It's all a maddening haze. The thump of his beloved shoes thrown to the floor, the quiet, murmured curse escaping his dry lips, the slamming of the doors as he goes from room to room, until, finally, his eyes set on a box of paints, left out from his previous session.

Then the hurt, the guilt and the anger suddenly click into place.

It takes a split second to decide that he's not going to use canvas for this one. Norman quickly rushes around the flat, looking in every nook and cranny for that white piece of tablecloth he was never going to use anyway, until he finally finds it in one of the kitchen cupboards. He stretches it out on the wall, using pins and duct tape, not at all bothered by the lack of accuracy and tidiness. His brain does a complete shutdown as his hands begin to work, opening the messy cases, taking out the old palette and smearing a range of colours onto the wooden surface.

The first splash of midnight-blue against the pristine white cloth is like a revelation. The thick paint drips off his fingertips as he smears the carmine around the edges, leaving almost bloody fingerprints, making it seem like somebody dying from a bleeding wound was trying to crawl up the cloth, to reach as high as they could, as if that'd bring salvation to their tortured soul.

There is no conscious process as to what he's doing as Norman claws and punches and rubs and strokes at the improvised canvas, which are getting heavier with paint by the minute.

When there is a single speck of white remaining, Norman slides down onto the floor, his breathing heavy in the silence of the flat. He allows his eyes to drift shut, hands unconsciously going up to cover his face and tangle in his brown hair.

A quiet sniff escapes his tight throat as the oily, blue paint leaves ugly smudges on his skin.

He's a crybaby. God knows he should be beating a punching bag or running, or doing some other shit men are supposed to do instead of having an emotional breakdown. Not rubbing their faces with paint-covered fingers, mixing midnight blue with translucent tears.

As Norman lifts his red-rimmed eyes towards the dark ceiling, sitting under his 'artwork', he wishes things went different.

He wishes Sean would come home and all of this would turn into a bad dream, would disappear like the mist in the morning.

He fumbles for a pack of cigarettes stashed in the back pocket of his jeans and takes one stick out, putting it in his mouth. The soft click of the lighter illuminates his paint-chipped fingers, then everything goes back into the darkness, the glowing cherry of his cigarette the only reminder that he's still alive and breathing.

Norman makes no sound sitting on the cold floor of his office and staring off into space.

He doesn't notice as the light starts spilling through the large windows.

His head is empty, his feelings numb.

It's morning.