Snow Addiction [Vikklan AU]*ON HOLD*

Chapter One: Vik Hates Snow

❄️Vik❄️

Vik burrowed his numb hands deeper into his pockets. It didn't offer much warmth, though; the cold breeze could still find its way in through the many holes in his worn jacket. As he walked to his usual place, his feet crunching the few bits of snow that had fallen in the previous couple of days, he decided one thing.

He hated snow.

No, there was nothing wrong with the snow that was falling from the sky, harmlessly. So harmlessly in fact that people would be willing to catch them on their tongues. The weather was wonderful, and though it may be too cold for Vik's liking, he had no reason to hate the flakes that would occasionally fall out of the sky.

Vik didn't hate the winter. He didn't hate the weather. He hated the drug that he had to hide in his coat each day to ensure he and his mother had food on the table. He hated the thing that had become the source of his income, the powder that people would stop by to ask for. Vik hated what it would do to people, how desperate they'd become for it. Vik hated snowflakes, or as most people called it, cocaine.

If someone had gone back in time and told young Vik that he would stoop so low as to be illegally selling drugs in an ally in the future, he would've laughed, maybe even sent the person to an asylum. He wouldn't have believed that he'd have any reason to resort to that in the first place. He'd done his best in school, and he'd gotten, maybe not perfect, but decent grades. He thought he'd be finishing his law degree in college and getting a decent job by now. Never in a million years would he have thought he'd be leaning against a cold wall, watching his breath swirl into nothing as he waited for drug addicts to come pay him.

Vik blamed himself for getting into this mess, even if it hadn't been him that had caused everything to start going downhill. He hadn't been the person that triggered his father's death, and he hadn't been the person to force his mother to lie motionless in bed every day, mourning over something that happened years ago. He still thought, though, everyday as he got up and on his way to "work," what could I have done differently? What could I have done that wouldn't have ended up in me doing this right now?

He tried to assure himself he still had some dignity left. He hadn't become desperate enough to start selling his body instead of drugs. Still, though, as Vik watched his usual customer approaching, he wondered which was worse.

"Preston," Vik said in greeting, nodding to the pale mess of a person that was shaking like a leaf in front of him. It was quite obvious that Preston had gone through the symptoms of withdrawal. "Haven't seen you in a while."

"Nope. It's good to see you." Is it? Vik thought as he watched Preston reach for his wallet. He'd known Preston had recently decided to quit; was it a good thing to see your dealer after a week of trying your hardest to stay away?

Vik wished desperately that he could tell Preston he didn't have anymore "snow" left, to help Preston continue on his way to a better life. Instead, he watched as Preston pulled out a stack of cash. After a quick and practiced trade, Preston was on his way, and Vik was guiltily counting the money. "A pleasure doing business with ya."

The "business" was an extremely unfair trade in Vik's opinion. His customers were buying from him things that would end their lives quicker rather than slower, and they were paying much of their income to do so. It was a deadly trap, one that Vik had made sure he wouldn't fall into, despite the constant thought of it, his fingers itching to just try a little bit. Surely nothing bad could happen, he'd think. I can control myself.

It was another reason why Vik hated cocaine.

He'd never let himself do it, though, as he'd seen what it did to others. The wide and glassy eyes that have long since lost the life in them, the highs they would cause and then the lows after that'd sink you deeper than you were before, and the hands that wouldn't stop trembling until they got more. More, more, more; it's all that would ever ask for. Vik didn't have more. He barely had enough as it was. There was no way he'd waste his money on something that'd kill him faster than death itself.