#ddccopper

[leftonthedrawingboard]

Been A Long Day || Oswald & Copper

One sheet of paper, two sheets of paper, eight sheets of paper-- it all added up over a night's work, how many concepts didn't work, how many of them ended up in the trash. He stared at the tilted drawing board he had sitting in front of him, the surface littered with concepts that were, in essence, failures. He balled his hands into fists, trying to resist punching the desk, trying to resist flipping it the fuck over, and eventually he just tilted forward and slammed his head into it, aggravated that he'd just wasted an entire night.

He laid there for a moment as his head began to throb, because what he fucking needed was a fucking headache on top of this, then he stood, rubbing his forehead. He pulled his shirt over his head, throwing it on the ground, and sat on the edge of his bed, unscrewing a bottle of ibuprofen and shaking two out. He washed them down with water, then stood to flick off the lights before rolling into is bed, not bothering to pull the covers over him.

He was so close to slipping off, slipping into sleep, that he could comfortably feel it, but then the door rattled. He jerked groggily awake, almost able to let his head flop back down and ease back into that state again, when the door slammed open, and light flooded in, and the racket was so ridiculous that all at once he wasn't asleep anymore and god fucking again.

He sat bolt upright twisting out of bed and on his feet, reaching over and flicking on the light. "What the fuck are you even doing? This is the third time this week you've come tromping in at two in the fucking morning!" He'd had his sleep disrupted, and boy was he cranky now.