Smoking cats - shinsero

Smoke and Shadows

A few days had passed since they kissed, and the memory of it lingered in Shinsou's mind like a quiet echo. They hadn't talked about it directly, but the way they moved around each other had shifted. There was a softness to their interactions now - a closeness that felt almost fragile, like they were both afraid to break whatever it was that had formed between them.

Sero had spent more time at the purple haired boy's apartment lately, finding comfort in the quiet space, in Shinsou's presence, and in the steady routine that had developed. Tipi had practically adopted him as a second owner, curling up on his lap whenever she got the chance.

But tonight, Sero felt the familiar restlessness creeping in. The kind that made his skin itch and his thoughts race. He had been doing better - mostly - but sometimes the weight of it all caught up with him. The pressure, the self-doubt, the fear that he wasn't good enough.

He needed an escape, something to take the edge off.

Sitting on Shinsou's balcony, he rolled a joint between his fingers, the cool night air brushing against his skin. He hadn't wanted to do this here - not in Shinsou's space - but the urge was strong tonight, and the silence of the night felt heavy on his chest.

Lighting the joint, the boy took a slow drag, feeling the familiar warmth spread through his lungs, calming the anxiety that had been gnawing at him all day. The smoke curled lazily into the air, dissipating into the darkness as he exhaled.

He leaned back against the railing, closing his eyes as the tension in his body began to melt away, the fog of his thoughts softening with each passing moment. Out here, away from everything, it felt easier to breathe, easier to forget for a little while.

But then the sliding door creaked oped behind him, and Sero froze.

Shinsou stepped out onto the balcony, his arms crossed as he leaned against the doorframe. His expression was unreadable, his violet eyes glinting in the faint light of the city below.

Sero's heart skipped a beat. He hadn't meant for the other to see this - hadn't wanted to drag him into this part of his life.

"Hey," Shinsou said softly, his voice low but not accusing.

He hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to say. He took one last drag before putting out the joint, stubbing it out on the ashtray he'd brought with him.
"Sorry," he muttered, avoiding the other's gaze.
"I didn't want you to... see this."

The purple haired boy's expression softened slightly, though he still looked concerned. He stepped closer, leaning against the railing beside Sero, the silence stretching between them.

"You don't have to hide that from me," Shinsou said quietly after a long pause.

Sero let out a shaky breath, his fingers fidgeting with the lighter in his hand.
"I know. I just... it's not exactly something I'm proud of."

The other glanced at him, his gaze steady but not judgmental.
"Why do you do it?"

Sero swallowed hard, the question hanging heavy in the air. He didn't want to lie to Shinsou, but he also didn't want to spill everything all at once. Not when things between them were still so new, so fragile.

"I guess... it helps me," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.
"When things get too heavy. It's like... I don't have to feel everything all at once, you know?"

The other nodded, his gaze thoughtful. He didn't say anything right away, didn't push for more, and Sero was grateful for that. It was one of the things he liked about Shinsou - his ability to listen without judging, without trying to fix everything.

"I get it," Shinsou finally said, his voice soft but steady.
"I used to... deal with things in my own way too. Worse ways."

Sero's heart clenched at the quiet admission, his gaze flickering to the scars on the boy's arms - scars that he had seen but never asked about. The weight of their past hung between them, heavy and unspoken, but for the first time, it didn't feel suffocating.

The purple haired boy sighed, leaning his elbows on the railing as he stared out into the night.
"I'm not gonna pretend I'm okay with it," he said, his voice calm but firm.
"But I'm not gonna judge you for it either."

Sero's chest tightened at the honesty in the boy's words, the way he didn't sugarcoat things but still offered a kind of quiet acceptance that made him feel both vulnerable and understood.

"I'll try not to do it around you," Sero offered, his voice low.

The other shook his head.
"I don't want you to hide it. I just... want you to be okay, you know?"

He let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, his gaze dropping to the floor.
"I'm trying. It's just... hard sometimes."

"I know," Shinsou said softly, his hand reaching out to gently touch Seroo's arm. The touch was warm, grounding, and he found himself leaning into it, letting the weight of everything settle between them without the need for words.

For a long moment, they stood like that - silent but close, the quiet night wrapping around them like a blanket. The distant sounds of the city buzzed faintly below, but up here, it felt like they were in their own world.

After a while, Shinsou shifted, turning toward the other with a quiet intensity in his eyes.
"You're not alone in this," he said, his voice steady but filled with something deeper, something that made Sero's heart skip a beat.

He swallowed hard, his throat tight as he met Shinsou's gaze.
"Neither are you."

The words hung between them, charged with a kind of unspoken promise. And then, slowly, almost hesitantly, Shinsou leaned in, his breath ghosting over the other boy's lips.

Sero's heart raced, his breath catching in his throat as their lips met in a kiss that was soft, tender, but filled with an intensity that left him breathless. Shinsou's hands slid up to cup Sero's face, his fingers warm and gentle against his skin as the kiss deepened.

It wasn't rushed, wasn't frantic - it was slow, deliberate, filled with a kind of emotion that made Sero's chest ache. There was a vulnerability in the way the boy kissed him, a quiet desperation to be close, to be understood. And Sero felt it too - the need to be seen, to be accepted for all the messiness, all the broken parts.

When they finally pulled away, their foreheads resting together, Sero's breath came in short, shallow bursts, his heart pounding in his chest.

"You don't have to carry it all by yourself," Shinsou whispered, his voice barely audible.

The black haired boy closed tight with emotion. He didn't know how to respond - didn't know how to put into words the weight of what Shinsou had just given him. But in that moment, with Shinsou so close, his hand still resting on Sero's cheek, it felt like maybe - just maybe - they could help each other carry the weight of their pasts.

And for the first time in a long time, Sero felt like he wasn't running away.

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