Oleg had been awake since roughly 4 a.m. He did not need as much sleep as a normal human being, but that was truly beside the point. He lived on a farm, and there was a never-ending task list to be accomplished. The young man went about his morning chores without complaint; he feed various animals, let several out to graze at the appropriate pastures. There was even a section of fencing he repaired, using huge fists to drive a new fence post down securely into the ground and hammer nails through boards to keep in the family's livestock. The old tractor was acting up again, and he managed to get the engine to turn over and start once again . . . eventually they would need a new one, because the old machine had practically been rebuilt from the ground up: wear and tear had broken this or that, and finally it was coming to the point where a new piece or part would not be enough to get it in working order again. Money was a concern, however. It was always a concern, despite his parents' frugality and wise use of their money.<br/><br/>At around 7 a.m., Oleg walked back to the house. He quietly walked up to the bathroom, and doffed the work clothes he was wearing: a pair of sturdy old work pants, stained with paint, grass, and other things, and an old shirt that was just as well-used. The boots he wore were by the front door, outside; Oleg would not track dirt all over his mother's clean house. Just the thought of it instilled in him some heavy guilt. He turned the water on and immediately stood under it. The jolt from the cold water was not something he could truly appreciate, as the extremes of temperature just did not seemed to affect him as much as it had when he was a child, but it was still refreshing. Soon the water warmed, however, and he washed his hair with some shampoo and lathered up his well-muscled body with soap. The young man did not linger, but stepped out as soon as he was clean and dried himself with a towel that he wrapped around his midsection as he collected his work clothes and walked to his room. There, he pulled on some on some white socks, a pair of navy blue boxers, some dark green cargo pants, and a black t-shirt. The shirt felt tight around his chest and shoulders, but with the family's money worries he could not ask for new clothes.<br/><br/>He grabbed his back pack, and then went to the kitchen. His mother had a large bowl of oatmeal waiting for him, and a tall glass of cold milk. Oleg talked briefly with his father, eating his breakfast quickly. Wishing his parents a good day, Oleg went outside to his truck.<br/><br/>Oleg's truck was an old Ford. He was not sure what year it was, but it was surely older than him. There were visible patches of rust all over the thing, and it had once been painted red, but most of it was flaking away now. Most kids his age would be embarrassed by it, but that was a sort of pride Oleg just did not have the luxury of having. It had four wheels and engine that worked (most of the time), and that was enough. The drive to town passed, as it always did. The radio of Oleg's truck did not work, and so it was only the sounds of the vehicle's strained functions to provide a soundtrack for the drive.<br/><br/>At the school, he parked far away, where it was easy to find a spot. Less competition. From there, he walked to the Talon and got a pair of coffees. He had a little spending money, some pocket money that he more than earned. One he kept black, for himself, and the other he fixed up the way he knew Chloe liked. From the Talon it was a brief walk back to the school, and his first target was the Torch Newsroom.<br/><br/>The Wall of Weird always put him a little ill at ease. There was always a chance that he would walk in and find something about himself. Something that would expose him to the world. It put a touch of trepidation into that first step across the threshold. Of course, there was also that existential fear that boys had of saying something that would forever ruin any chance of a relationship with a girl they liked too, but Oleg liked not to think about that.<br/><br/>"Hello, Chloe." Oleg said, giving the blonde girl a smile. His voice was deep and rich, with a bit of a Slavic accent from his parents speaking Russian at home and it being his mother tongue despite, ostensibly, being born on American soil. With him came the scent of the Talon's freshly brewed coffee. "I got you a coffee . . . what is the matter? The young man began, but shifted his speech as he noticed the expression on her face. His smile and pleasant expression changed quickly to one of concern. The young man's long legs quickly carried him to the couch and Chloe's side.