Multifandom Short Stories, Maybe?

Coffee & Cigarettes 🌙

Depressing. Such a depressing night it is. I'm all alone, when I'm usually with.. Him. Not anymore. Not ever again. He cheated on me, lied to me. I hate him. I hate it all. 

I walk down the street, my feet shuffling. I hear a faint hum. A tune of music. I follow the sound curiously. It leads me to a man, a young man, sitting on the ground, playing a guitar. As I approach him, he begins to sing along to the little chords he plays. His ears are stretched and he's got shaggy light brown hair. He's barefoot, too. He's odd-looking, but he looks nice. "This world has lots to offer, but in time it will go dark.." He sings. He has a sweet, tenor singing voice, with a hint of an accent from a place I don't know. I can't help but smile. He looks up at me, continuing to sing, with a little toothy grin. He just seems so bright, like a tiny light in a world of darkness. "And with a girl as sweet as you, there's not much else I can do, but fall for you.." The boy sings, and it sounds like the song has ended. And it has. He looks up at me. We are there in silence for a bit before he says, "Hey, why don't you sit down and rest your feet a while? You look tired." I'm too nice, and indeed tired, to refuse. I sit indian style next to him. The odd young man plays quiet chords on his guitar, humming things along with them. He does that for a long time, then he digs into his pocket. He brings a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, along with a nearly empty lighter. I just watch him. As he lights the cigarette, he notices me staring. "Want one?" The shaggy haired guy asks me, stopping his lighting process to hold out the small package to me. I guess I just kind of miss it. I was addicted to cigarettes for a long time; a very, very long time. I think that's why I take the box, flip it open, and slip a solitary cigarette out of it, proceeding to do what I want with it. I give the box back to him and he hands me the almost empty lighter. I light up the cigarette and take in a whole lot of the toxins; the toxins that regenerate that familiar blackness in my lungs. When I pull the cigarette away from my face, a grey plume of smoke escapes from my lips. That smell brings back memories I don't want to think about. The guy seems to realize it.

 "So, what brought you out to the streets?" He asks. "I don't know. Not a lot of people are out on a Friday night in this town. It's weird." I shrug, lying about not knowing. He takes a drag from his own cigarette, then says, "I know. It's just the way it's always been." "Are you serious?" I ask him. "Yeah, Friday nights are always the same in this town." He says, almost laughing. "Wow, that's even more depressing." I say quietly. He hears it. "Eh, not really.. Hey, why don't we, like, go to Waffle House or something? I just need some coffee." He says. Very opportunistic of him. "Coffee actually sounds great right now." I say. And it really does. He stands up, disposing of his cigarette, and slipping on some shoes. I dispose of my own cigarette and wait for him to pack up his guitar. Once he does, he points to the nearest Waffle House, which isn't far away at all. It's just across the street, two buildings over. "Onward." He says, walking across the street. He doesn't even look both ways before he does. I hesitantly follow after him. "Come on, slow poke!" He laughs, taking my hand with his free one and pulling me across the street and the Waffle House with him. Maybe I go willingly, and maybe I giggle with him along the way.