KaiSoo One Shot Collection (REQUESTS OPEN)

Summer of Cigarettes

Title: Summer of Cigarettes
Genre(s)/Tags: coming of age, young love, slight smut, angst, family problems, mental health issues, first love
Rating: PG-13
Warnings/Kinks: cursing, underage smoking and drinking, dubcon, brief depictions of physical abuse
Description: All I remember was falling hard and fast--the rest felt like history.

I was fifteen years old when I got my first blowjob. 

It was a typical, hot Nevada summer. School was out, which meant there was really nothing to do besides either stay inside and drown in a pool of your own sweat or go outside where there was at least a light breeze some days. My hometown was small. Like everyone I would graduate high school with in three years were the same people I had known since kindergarten small. We had maybe two traffic lights, one and a half grocery stores, an old arcade that miraculously managed to stay in business for more than a decade, and a gas station. Needless to say, there wasn't much for a teenager, or any kid really, to do during the summer. And I had always struggled to make permanent friends, so once the final class bells of my sophomore year rang, I was pretty much alone. 

My only consistent scheduled obligation was taekwondo at the martial arts studio two towns over once a week on Thursday. My parents insisted it would keep me out of trouble and connect me to part of me Korean heritage. I hadn't yet worked up the courage to tell them that I hated it. But I kept going, mostly because it got me out of the house and out of that god forsaken town for a few hours. My uncle worked in a warehouse close to the studio, so every Thursday around noon, he'd pull up to our house in his old, beat-up convertible with cigarette hanging from his smiling mouth and take me to my lessons. After that, he'd spoil me with fast food and sometimes even take me to a movie if something he thought was good happened to be playing. I always dreaded the ride back home. I knew come Friday, I'd be back to wasting my time around the house, flipping through the same television channels until either my mom or dad yelled at me to stop being lazy and come help in the shop if I was so bored. Remember the gas station I mentioned before? They owned it. At least I could people watch when I was there, though. I'd grab a random magazine off the shelf, lay it out in front of me next to the cash register, and use it as a prop as I sneakily watched the handful of people who'd come in. My goal was to figure out who they were based on how they dressed and walked, the brand of cigarettes they smoked, and the way they carried themselves. It was like a game, something to keep my imagination from rotting. 

That was what I was doing the day he walked in. 

I remember thinking that the door chime sounded different that day. The pitch sounded higher or maybe I had just heard it too many times. Looking back, maybe it was actually the warning bell. I remember he was shorter than me--not by much really but enough that I definitely thought I was older. His lazy stroll told me he wasn't here by choice. Either his folks had forced him to come in while they made a pit stop to fill up or he was like me--a restless kid with nothing better to do than try to find some entertainment on the shelves of a gas station convenience store. He was wearing old blue jeans and a black hoodie, and I remember thinking he was crazy for that. But it also made me wonder where he was from. Somewhere colder, I guessed, somewhere on the East Coast possibly where wearing a black hoodie in July didn't mean you had a death-by-heatstroke wish. He looped in and out of the aisles, picking up a bag of hot Cheetos here, a can of Redbull there, and then a pack of cheap gum once he reached the register. Our eyes met, and he stared blankly at me. I stared back at him, not as blankly but definitely not in a way that my parents would have considered good customer service. After what felt like forever, he looked away and tossed a Snickers bar up on the counter too. The annoyed face he made and the way his wrist flicked when he threw it made it seem like he thought I was using telepathy to tell him to buy something else. I furrowed my eyebrows and started ringing him up.