PabStell // crush

05.

Pablo first tugged his hood lower and hung his head low, trying to cover his face as much as possible.

The biting wind whipped at his thin jacket, offering little comfort against the chill evening air. As he went out, the bustling of cars – a cacophony of horns and screeching tires – was overheard throughout the streets.

He walked around the busy streets, filled with people drinking and mingling, their laughter echoing off the brick buildings. Pablo weaved his way through the crowd, a ghost in the vibrant tapestry of city life.  Each jostle, each near-collision, sent a fresh wave of anxiety through him.

He’d been walking for minutes, the city a relentless maze of noise and flashing lights. The chill wind whipped around him, He needed a break, a moment to just… breathe.

And finally he managed to find an alleyway where no one else was. Pablo leaned against the damp, brick wall, sighing.  Then, fumbled in his jeans, reaching into his back pocket to fish out his battered box of cigarettes and a lighter.

He slipped a cigarette between his lips, the familiar weight comforting in his hand.

Pablo pressed his lips together, slowly blowing the smoke out of his mouth. A puff of white smoke curled into the night, momentarily obscuring the flickering neon sign of a distant bar.

The smoke tasted bitter, but the act itself was soothing.

The flickering neon sign of a nearby bar cast a lurid glow on Stel's face as he emerged from the dimly lit establishment.  His companions, their brows furrowed in confusion, exchanged glances. 

That was all the distraction Stell needed. He melted into the shadows, his movements fluid and silent, following the man who had just left.

The man, a silhouette against the moonlit alley, leaned against a damp brick wall.  Pablo produced a cigarette, the tiny flame momentarily illuminating his hardened features before he drew a deep, satisfying breath.  The smoke curled and dissipated into the night air, leaving a lingering scent of something bitter and masculine.

His eyes, dark and shadowed, were lowered, his expression unreadable.  A cold stillness emanated from him, a palpable chill that seemed to cling to the very air around him. 

Even in the darkness, the moonlight caught the sharp angles of his face, his strong jawline, the subtle curve of his lips. He was a study in contrasts – the harshness of the alley, the softness of the moonlight, and the enigmatic quality of his stillness.

Passersby, drawn by an unspoken magnetism, stole furtive glances in his direction, their curiosity piqued by the air of mystery that clung to him like a second skin.  Stell watched him, unseen, a silent observer in the shadows,

The air hung thick with the scent of stale beer and cigarette smoke.  He was lost in thought, oblivious to the world around him, the harsh rasp of his own breathing the only sound he registered. A sudden, sharp irritation pricked at his senses, a feeling of being watched.

"Smoking is bad, you know," a calm voice cut through the haze, emanating from a dark corner.  The words were soft, almost gentle, yet they carried a weight that unsettled him.  He couldn't make out the speaker; only a shadowy silhouette against the dim light.

As the figure moved closer, he squinted, trying to pierce the gloom.  Relief, tinged with surprise, washed over him as he recognized Stell. Leaning against the wall, Stell kept a respectful distance, hands shoved deep in his pockets.  His gaze held a flicker of curiosity, quickly masked by a polite smile.

"I only smoke to relieve my…" He trailed off, the words catching in his throat.

Stell finished the sentence for him, "…discomfort?"  He nodded, a silent agreement hanging between them, heavy and unspoken.