Unlit Cigarette.
"Ryan never wanted to go home."
Brendon and Ryan were sitting in the park on the swings. Ryan was sitting, twirling an unlit cigarette in his fingers while Brendon was swinging a few feet off the ground. They were trying to find good excuses to not go home. Brendon was pissed at his parents and Ryan never wanted to go home.
"Let's sleep here." Brendon said. "We can curl up in the slide together to keep warm."
Ryan laughed quietly. "We do have my car to sleep in, Bren."
"Yeah, well." The younger boy gave a bit of a shrug. "Sounded fun. Like camping."
"I've never been camping." Ryan said, putting the cigarette between his lips. He didn't have a lighter. Brendon did, but he didn't ask to use it. There was something . . . toxic about cigarettes and something . . . oddly intriguing with having an unlit cigarette in his mouth. He felt artificially dangerous. It was a unique feeling; he wanted to hold onto it.
"I used to go a lot when I was younger." Brendon said. "But things are different now."
"Things are always different." Ryan replied.
Brendon slowed down in his swing, fishing in his pocket and pulling out his lighter. He held it out to Ryan who hesitated for a moment before taking it. Slowly, he lit the cigarette between his lips, coughing as he inhaled. He held it out to Brendon who expertly took a drag. "You look weird smoking."
"Thanks."
Brendon smiled, reaching out and grabbing his hand. He squeezed it and Ryan squeezed back. They sat there for awhile, Brendon finishing the cigarette and Ryan kicking at the pebbles beneath his feet.
"We probably ought to get back." the younger said finally.
"Crash with me." Ryan said finally, almost desperately. "Stay with me. My dad . . ."
Brendon nodded. "Sure. Better than going home."
Ryan fought his snort and eye roll. He would have traded in his home life for Brendon's in a moment. At least Brendon had a real family, not an intoxicated pathetic excuse for a parent.
The car ride home was silent, neither one of them bothering to fuck with the radio. The silence was slightly comforting, almost like a warm blanket covering them. The slipped quietly into Ryan's house, the older boy blushing at the array of different coloured liquor bottles littering the kitchen. Brendon slipped an arm around his waist and they walked to the bedroom quietly.
Once inside they both stripped down quickly, Ryan to boxers and Brendon to boxers and his shirt. They slipped under the blankets and the older boy turned his head away, silent tears sliding down his cheeks.
He gave a small gasp when he felt Brendon's arms wrap around his waist from behind. "You won't be him." The whisper tickled his ear.
"You don't know that."
"I do."
Ryan sniffled quietly and nodded. "Okay."
"We're not going to be our parents, Ryan."
"Who are we going to be then?" the older whispered.
"Us." Brendon answered. "We're going to be us."
"Let's sleep here." Brendon said. "We can curl up in the slide together to keep warm."
Ryan laughed quietly. "We do have my car to sleep in, Bren."
"Yeah, well." The younger boy gave a bit of a shrug. "Sounded fun. Like camping."
"I've never been camping." Ryan said, putting the cigarette between his lips. He didn't have a lighter. Brendon did, but he didn't ask to use it. There was something . . . toxic about cigarettes and something . . . oddly intriguing with having an unlit cigarette in his mouth. He felt artificially dangerous. It was a unique feeling; he wanted to hold onto it.
"I used to go a lot when I was younger." Brendon said. "But things are different now."
"Things are always different." Ryan replied.
Brendon slowed down in his swing, fishing in his pocket and pulling out his lighter. He held it out to Ryan who hesitated for a moment before taking it. Slowly, he lit the cigarette between his lips, coughing as he inhaled. He held it out to Brendon who expertly took a drag. "You look weird smoking."
"Thanks."
Brendon smiled, reaching out and grabbing his hand. He squeezed it and Ryan squeezed back. They sat there for awhile, Brendon finishing the cigarette and Ryan kicking at the pebbles beneath his feet.
"We probably ought to get back." the younger said finally.
"Crash with me." Ryan said finally, almost desperately. "Stay with me. My dad . . ."
Brendon nodded. "Sure. Better than going home."
Ryan fought his snort and eye roll. He would have traded in his home life for Brendon's in a moment. At least Brendon had a real family, not an intoxicated pathetic excuse for a parent.
The car ride home was silent, neither one of them bothering to fuck with the radio. The silence was slightly comforting, almost like a warm blanket covering them. The slipped quietly into Ryan's house, the older boy blushing at the array of different coloured liquor bottles littering the kitchen. Brendon slipped an arm around his waist and they walked to the bedroom quietly.
Once inside they both stripped down quickly, Ryan to boxers and Brendon to boxers and his shirt. They slipped under the blankets and the older boy turned his head away, silent tears sliding down his cheeks.
He gave a small gasp when he felt Brendon's arms wrap around his waist from behind. "You won't be him." The whisper tickled his ear.
"You don't know that."
"I do."
Ryan sniffled quietly and nodded. "Okay."
"We're not going to be our parents, Ryan."
"Who are we going to be then?" the older whispered.
"Us." Brendon answered. "We're going to be us."