Ripples of pain echoed through Wren's head, making him put his knuckles to his temples, squeezing his eyes shut in annoyance. He twisted his knuckles, putting pressure on his skull, hoping it would stop the pain tap dancing on his brain. It didn't, of course, the one time Karma hates him and he can't do anything about it.
He looked up at Iris, who was lying on the top bunk of her bed (she liked being closer to the ceiling, for a reason Wren never really asked. But Wren didn't mind and often slept on the bottom bunk, when he wasn't sleeping on the couch, even though his feet often hung over the end of the bed). She was reading a book Alana had given her; he surmised that it was about history or something like that.
Absently, Wren pondered about getting a beer. He lightly chewed on the end of his cigarette, the movement making a bit of ash shake free. But he didn't want to get up, so he decided not to get one. He settled with drinking the flat, and slightly warm, beer that he had forgotten next to his chair. Manners be damned, warm or not, alcohol is alcohol. At least, in Wren's mind it was.
"Wren," Iris's voice came out of nowhere, "Who are the Mayans?"
Wren's lips formed into a thin line as he thought, "No idea, sweetie, Ian is the History nut." He took a long drag of his cigarette then flicked the ashes out of a window. "All I know is that they all died out."
Iris made a 'hmm' sound, "Lemme see your phone, Wren."
Wren smirked, "May I know why?"
"Then you can't have it." Wren grinned.
Iris' bottom lip poked out, and she 'hmphed' and went back to the book. Her reaction bothered Wren, usually she would use some sort of malicious reason to see his phone, whether it be humiliating him or telling Ize, his enemy, secrets about him.
He could almost sense impending doom.
Or maybe that was the four-hour old beer he just chugged. He hoped it was impending doom. Prayed, almost.
Then his headache came back, he needed nice, cold, not flat alcohol. Now he'd really have to get up and get one.
He started to get up out of the soft armchair, hearing his back crack, and feeling what felt like a vertebrae sliding back into place. Wincing, he walked slowly over to the small refrigerator, quickly regretting standing up as he bent down and got a bottle of beer. He quickly made his way back into the chair.
"Back hurts again?"
"I hurt all over." Wren twisted open the bottle cap, his eyes shut in slight pain, and he held his cigarette between his fingers as he took a drink.
"It's because of the rain, isn't it?" Iris' voice was soft, she could tell he had a headache.
Wren nodded, setting the beer down and took another drag. He could hear the several drips hitting the open window, and the downpour just outside the window. He loved the rain, but sometimes it made his twenty-six-year-old bones ache. He always wanted to punch Morris, who, several times, always said Wren was too young to have back problems.
Too young my ass…
Quite honestly, Wren was just to active, too reckless, he had injured his back one too many times, and his spine was permanently bent forward about an inch. His vertebrae often protested against it, giving him the feeling like he was going to curl up into a ball against his will.
He brought up a hand, rubbing his neck and then his temples again. The headache was spreading into his spine, and made him feel even worse.
Lightning streaked across the dark sky, illuminating it for a brief second. Thunder rumbled through the building. Wren saw Iris visibly flinch.
"Come here," Wren motioned for Iris to come over to him. She climbed off the bed and walked quickly over to him, sitting down on his right thigh and snuggled into his leather overcoat. She hated storms, Wren knew that well enough. He wrapped his arms around her, feeding her ivory hair through his long fingers, he touched the back of her head softly.
Another streak of lightning, another rumble. Iris flinched again.
He dropped his cigarette into the ash tray, it was too small to smoke anymore. He lit another one, blowing the smoke straight up, and watched as it was sucked out through the open window.
His back didn't hurt anymore.