you pray for salvation , open

[CIARAN DYLAN STRATFORD]

oh na na, what's my name? - what's my name?

So far, for Ciaran, it was a normal day. He woke up from one of his reoccurring dreams about Tyler, grabbed his journal from under his pillow, and wrote down every detail he could remember. The journal entries rarely changed day by day, they were pretty much the same entry written over and over. It had been almost a year since Ciaran’s mother had admitted him for Stanfield, and unlike she’d hoped, Ciaran hadn’t changed much at all. If anything, he’d gotten worse. He didn’t feel like he had anyone, not anyone like he’d had Tyler. He missed his sister, despite the fact she never bothered to call or write, or visit when his parents did. He missed being around people. People he knew, people he wasn’t afraid of.

After he made sure every word he had just written was written correctly and neatly Ciaran placed his beloved Hello Kitty pen in the spiral binding and placed his tattered journal back under his pillow. He wasn’t fussy if anyone ever read his diary; he had to bring it to his counselling sessions anyway. He was convinced no one would understand anything he ever wrote, no one would be interested in his pining, and no one even knew who Tyler was. It was like, he’d never existed. Ciaran sniffed, ruffled his light hair and scrambled out of bed.

The seventeen year old figured the pain in his stomach was due to hunger and after he’d pulled on some jeans and a clean shirt he made sure breakfast was next on his list. Head down, as always, the small boy paced quietly down the corridors until he reached the poor looking canteen. Ciaran really did miss his Mum’s cooking – the fact they used to order take-out every Friday and have pancakes every Sunday morning, followed by bacon, poached eggs and fried mushrooms on the Sunday. He could feel his mouth watering. But, heck, he knew he wouldn’t be getting any of that here. It wasn’t fair, he thought, he didn’t belong here, he wasn’t crazy.

The canteen wasn’t that busy, and Ciaran hadn’t remembered to take note of the time. It must’ve been pretty early. Yawning he grabbed himself two slices of luke-warm toast from the self-service counter and hovered at the instant coffee machine. His Dad used to drink coffee. Ciaran frowned, he had no idea how to use the machine – and how long had he been here? He placed a cream coloured mug under the funnel and waited to see what would happen.

[DYLAN JAMES ROMANOV]

"too early is never wrong; too late is always horrid."

[/b] he said not quite under his breath. This seriously would be a long morning, wouldn't it? The person in front of him finally made at least some motion. It wasn't...what was expected. The person had placed the coffee mug in the proper place, but didn't do anything further. No button pushing, smashing, or hitting. No. It's as if the large, red, rectangular knob didn't even exist, much less present itself quite upfront and in an inescapable view. "Dude, are you fucking kidding me?" Dylan's temper was simmering now. Did this kid really not know how to get a cup of joe? "Get your damn coffee already." As he said this, he lightly smacked the person's shoulder. Making out that it was a guy, and one that seemed oddly familiar, he felt better. There would be no remorse for an idiot who didn't bother to keep the morning from going totally wrong.
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OOC: tee-hee. i hope it's ok i snagged this. aaaaaaand sorry dylan's an ass. <3[/size]

[CIARAN DYLAN STRATFORD]

standing there on vacant avenue ,

The smell of coffee reminded Ciaran of Starbucks, of his modernised kitchen at home, of Tyler’s stained shirts – he didn’t even like the taste. Standing here in front of, what Ciaran seemed to think was broken, the machine seemed like a total waste of time if you were to think about it logically. Why wait for a coffee if you’re not going to drink it? Nevertheless Ciaran didn’t move. He frowned and removed his cup, making sure to grab a teaspoon from the metal container just beside the coffee maker.

He also didn’t understand why they had the coffee maker so widely available – he knew a boy from his group therapy sessions that was severely addicted to caffeine. Now, if he got in here, and ahold of this so called ‘Coffee Wonder 125’, well, that wouldn’t be very good would it? Ciaran didn’t think so. The confused, slightly dim-witted, seventeen year old popped his mug under the funnel once more and tapped the screen above the label. He was tired, and a newbie to coffee machines, this was a pretty huge task. How was he supposed to know what to do?

More people had started to gather, it was getting later and people wanted food. Ciaran was still standing there like an idiot. The frown was still on his face when someone shoved, rather than tapped, his shoulder. Yelping Ciaran turned around, knocking his mug off as he turned – ‘ah’. Ciaran flapped his hands – oh he was clumsy – and bent down to pick up the mug, that thankfully hadn’t smashed to pieces.

The guy who was so desperate to get coffee was one Ciaran knew, well, he most certainly knew of him. He was tall, handsome – spoke angrily, Dylan – he reminded Ciaran so much of Tyler. He couldn’t help but smile, despite the fact he’d been told to hurry up, and had a few curse words chucked his way. ‘I don’t really like coffee …’ he mumbled, realising that he sounded completely foolish. He stepped aside, holding his empty mug, and waited for Dylan to get his drink. ‘I hope they have scrambled eggs’ – it was random, but Ciaran always desperately tried to start conversation with Dylan, ‘what are you having? ... am I allowed to sit with you?’.

[DYLAN JAMES ROMANOV]

"too early is never wrong; too late is always horrid."

[/b], Dylan spoke softly. Ciaran still managed to smile at him, despite his abrupt and rude demeanor. What was wrong with this kid?

He stepped aside, and murmured something unimportant. What mattered to Dylan now was that the coffee machine was free. He slammed the monotonous mug down on the basin, and slammed the rectangular prism with his fist. He leaned into the machine. The aroma, the warmth; Dylan knew that security was only moments away. Of course, Ciaran still hovered behind him. The guy mumbled something about scrambled eggs, and Dylan quickly flicked his head around. His hair fanned out, covering his eyes. Which, was probably a good thing. He shot at Ciaran his ice-cold stare, the glare that usually means "not nice things." Why on earth was this kid dotting around with him anyways? What, he didn't have his own things to do? Dylan murmured some curses under this breath, and turned to walk away, but he kept speaking. What was he having? Sit with him? What?

"I'm having this coffee. That's about it." His words were tinged with venom, and his tone was not polite. "And sit with me? Fuck..." He held his head in his hand again, and stroke it against his temple. What would letting him sit beside him really do? Cause a massive earthquake? Lakes to turn to blood? "I...guess you can." He brushed past the boy, and threw out the nearest chair. It clambered, came to a halt, and was immediately pressed against his gluteus maximus. He placed the mug down on the table, and awaited Ciaran to follow. "Holy hell, this damn headache." He sipped his coffee, and waited, just waited, for the boy to start talking. He knew it would only get worse from here on out...
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[CIARAN DYLAN STRATFORD]

you and i, we'll be young forever,

Ciaran hovered behind Dylan – stifling a yawn. He only just remembered the plate of toast he’d left on the side beside his still empty cup and leant forward to grab a piece – he hoped he’d have someone to talk to at breakfast. It wasn’t often Ciaran actually wanted to talk to a certain someone, but since he’d been here, which wasn’t that long, Ciaran had instantly liked something about the violent teen in front of him.


He flapped his blonde hair from his face, his neatly placed fringe now a mess due to his hurried bending to pick up the mug he nearly smashed a mere second ago. Blinking, and frowning, Ciaran wandered if it was really necessary to slam a cup under the coffee machine – it wouldn’t be a very good one if it was broken due to unneeded actions. He didn’t say anything however, scared that instead he’d get the mug flung at his face.

‘Hadn’t you better eat something too-‘ Ciaran mumbled, ever concerned for other peoples welfare. Breakfast was the most important meal of the day, that’s what his Dad had told him time and time again. He didn’t repeat that well-known fact though, aware Dylan was probably more than irritated at the moment. Ciaran darted his gaze to his shoes – he didn’t understand what he’d done wrong, was his shirt inside out? And he looked like a loser – or did Dylan really just not want to talk to him. He frowned and looked back up, munching his toast.

He almost looked over-joyed at the fact his fellow inmate had agreed to sit with him – ‘Really?’ he smiled, checking that he wasn’t joking and was about to laugh in his face. ‘I don’t really like sitting by myself’ he mumbled, ever so quietly. With a small skip in his step Ciaran made his way to the same table and took a seat opposite. ‘Why do you have a headache- do you not feel very well?’ the seventeen year old questioned, god he asked too many questions. It was one of those days. Ciaran wanted to know everything about this boy. ‘Maybe you should go to the infirmary- or’ he grabbed his other piece of toast, which had gone from luke-warm to stone-cold by now, ‘you can have a piece of my toast?’.
.