Leaves, Seasons, and Dead Trees (BxB)

4. - Come and Sit with Me (Pt. I)

"All out, I'd replicate your pain.
Climb down, if only for a taste."

- "Carry You" by Novo Amor -

*****

Samuel

Matty doesn't even try to keep up appearances. Barely ten minutes in, he's up and out of the smoking room, mumbling something about window shopping. He doesn't glance back, and his excuse barely holds water as it dissolves into the stale air like the smoke curling from my cigarette: I can't stand this room.

I tap ash into the tray and glance at the untouched water bottle he left behind. Across the table, Tyson picks at a plate of nachos with mechanical precision. The quiet stretches until he shifts in his seat.

His gaze darts to the cigarette in my fingers. "So... uh..." He hesitates, his voice tripping over itself. "Since when do you smoke?"

Seriously?

I draw in a lungful of smoke, letting it unfurl in the stillness. "Why?"

He flinches, paws raised as if shielding from an invisible blow. "N-No reason, just... Uh... Curious."

The corner of my mouth lifts. I lean forward, letting the cigarette dangle lazily between my fingers. Perhaps I should toy with his buttons a little. "You want a drag?"

"W-What? No. No way." His head shakes with the fervor of someone who doesn't quite believe his own answer. "I don't smoke."

"Scared?" I wave the Davidoff classic, the ember glowing like a beacon. "One puff won't kill you."

"It's just that, I-I can't, y'know? I'm a QB, after all, haha." Despite his forced laugh, his troubled gaze still lingers on the cigarette.

"One drag won't hurt anyone, y'know?"

Regretting his ill-fated decision to delve into this topic, Tyson reluctantly accepts the cigarette from my paw. He stares at the glowing tip, and then his lips close over the filter. The first inhale barely registers before he's choking, hacking so violently the cigarette tumbles onto the table.

"F-ack! M-ack throat!" He pounds his chest, eyes watering they land on my bottle of water. I slide it across the table, and he snatches it, gulping down the contents. He drains half of it in one go, a belch slipping free as he caps the bottle

So this is how it feels to be a voluntary asshole, huh?

"Enjoying it?"

His breath steadies as I retrieve the fallen cigarette, a grin spreading across my face. "That was—" Tyson clears his throat, rasping his voice back to clarity. "That was strong."

"It's barely a medium-strength blend." I take another puff of the cigarette and eye him, the smirk returning. "Another go?"

He raises his paw, warding off the offer. "No way." I shrug, and the two of us retreat into our thoughts again.

Tyson stabs at the nachos with his fork, the plastic scraping faintly against the paper tray. I exhale a thin ribbon of smoke, the ember at the tip of my cigarette flaring briefly. The silence stretches, taut as a guitar string, until he finally plucks it. "How're you finding Monteverde so far?"

I don't bother lifting my eyes from my phone. "It's fine."

His fork clinks against the edge of the tray. "What about Juniper's Lookout? I go there sometimes."

"It's fine." I swipe idly through my screen. He waits for more, but it doesn't come.  In truth, I secretly yearn for another scenic spot that isn't too far from the campus grounds, especially after what happened five days ago.