Lit Cigarettes || Angst/BxB Shots

• Routines •

Content warnings - pretty graphic mentions of self-harm and brief mentions of suicide

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   Auryn Solace let out a hard breath, smoke drifting out of his lungs and filling the car with the smell of burnt, chemical treated paper and nicotine. He flicked the ash onto the top of his hand, biting his tongue at the quiet sting of pain.

   Osric Livani pulled their knees up to their chest and pressed their head to the window. They hid their hands between their lower torso and knees, eyes fixated on the street lamp ahead of the beat up, silver Audi A7.

   They were falling for a boy who's only future plan was to kiss death and go to hell for the most diabolical sin.

   Osric sighed quietly, their eyes flicking towards the broken skin of Auryn's knuckles. The bruises surrounding the scabs were turning a light beige and they were pretty damn sure there was still brick embedded in the exposed, raw tissue. Auryn's fingers were torn around his nails, hands shaking lightly before they gripped the steering wheel with a sort of urgency.

   Their eyes wandered up his arms, ignoring the brief sight of deep and ragged scars that jutted out from his ghostly pale skin, which was mostly covered by a sleeve and a few of those shitty beaded bracelets. They paused, eyes blurring into focus to show a nasty, raging red line molded against Auryn's clavicle.

   Before they could bite down on their words, they asked, "Did you make that one?"

   Auryn didn't look at them.

   He stuck his cigarette between his lips again, filled himself with the sweet, sweet burn of bliss and exhaled through his nose before tossing the butt out the window. He sat back in his seat, eyes fixated on something in front of him.

   "Osric, when you get to a point of absolute void, you're fucked," Auryn said, disregarding their question. "It consumes you. It fucking eats you, and you feel like you're a dream. You feel as though every breath you take is manual, and you have to think harder just to remember how to push your muscles into that weird little thing we call a smile." His eyes started to drift from his original pin point. "You can't feel your body, and so...you check if you're real. And you do that, by causing pain. But a pinch doesn't work, so you grab anything sharp," His gaze seems to stutter for a second before hardening. "You dig deep because you're so goddamn. Numb. And you feel it, and you can't stop." He found Osric, his face unreadable. "You get addicted, Osric. And that's...that's why people like me—people who do this—" He gestured to the scar on his clavicle. "do it. We do it because what we don't know what else to do, and then suddenly...it's all we know what to do."

   They felt they were going to throw up.

   "I'm sorry."

   A shitty set of words that Osric kept fucking saying. The same shitty set of words that he said even though nobody was mad at him, and he knew Auryn would chew them out, but what else are you supposed to say when the boy who beat a kid to the brink of death just told you why he cuts himself? And why he does it so goddamn much and so goddamn deep.

   Auryn laughed hoarsely. "Not your fault, Oz."

   "Still," they said quietly. "Nobody should ever feel like that. It sounds so..."

   "Scary," Auryn whispered, his fingers rubbing circles into the scars on his wrist. "Yeah. It is, but...you know, I haven't died yet."

   "You could."

   "Don't go down that path with me."

   "I won't," They picked at their nail polish. "But..."

   "It's a possibility, I know."

   A silence drifted over the car.

   Auryn's rings made a quiet metallic sound as they brushed together, the small dog tag attached to the keys in the ignition rattling with the turn that started the engine.

   The drive home was silent.

   But Osric's head filled the quiet with raging thoughts that whole night, granting him some unwanted company.