sometimes we take chances, sometimes we take pills

1. sometimes we take pills

Natsu's a disaster, a forest fire, a car crash, and Gray's just along for the ride.

TW for scars/talk of self-harm, recreational drug use, referenced past suicide attempt

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"Let's go somewhere." Natsu's voice is soft and his eyes are wide and Gray says yes because that's all he'll ever say to Natsu.

"Where to?" he asks, keys already in hand, watching Natsu scribble something on his arm in black ink – it weaves between the scars that draw patterns over his dark skin.

"Anywhere."

~

When they pull into Crocus in Gray's beat-up Ford Pinto, everything is smoke and neon and flashing lights; dark streets full of people and dogs and motorcycles and the scent of Indian curry. Natsu presses his face to the window – black eyeliner, red lipstick, thrift store shirt from some obscure band Gray's never heard of. He's pretty sure Natsu's never heard of them either.

"Here?" Gray's voice is rough and Natsu says it's because he smokes too much, which is probably true, but Gray thinks the real reason is because being around Natsu makes it hard to talk. Natsu nods, face bathed in the cold light of the streetlamps. He looks supernal.

Gray parks the car in a back alley behind a store with bright lights that flash palm readings done here - $15. Gray knows before Natsu asks that this will be their first stop.

Natsu changes into skinny jeans and combat boots before they leave the car, feet kicked up on the dash as he slides out of the sequined skirt and into dark denim. He tugs on a leather jacket and leaves the skirt hanging up on a chain-link fence.

"Maybe someone else needs it," he explains, grabbing Gray's hand and stomping through dirty puddles that reflect the half-moon and all the neon lights. "It's my lucky one."

"Why not keep it, then?" Gray asks.

"Don't need it," Natsu says, tugging Gray toward the palm reader. "Got you."

Gray's chest hurts. He wishes Natsu would say those things when his eyes weren't the kind of bright that makes Gray know it's not real.

The door opens to a set of narrow stairs that are thick with smoke and incense. They push back a bead curtain and walk into a room that's so crowded they can barely move. Natsu immediately runs over to a table that holds a typewriter and several old phones. "Look!" he says, running his fingers through the cords and dragging the dials to zero.

So Gray looks, because he can't deny Natsu anything, and it means that Natsu will touch his arm and give him a smile that's so bright it hurts. They look at crumbling paperbacks with hand-written notes inside, at chipped china plates and matching teacups, at vintage records of Queen and The Rolling Stones, at packets of incense and jewelry made with stones that claim to heal you or calm your mind.

Natsu touches everything, fingers drifting over vinyl, plastic, weathered paper.

"Do you want to know?" Someone appears behind the glass-topped counter – a slip of a girl with braided hair and smoky eyes, and a deck of tarot cards between her fingers. Her nails are bitten, dark polish flaking away. Her hands are dirty.

"Know what?" Gray asks, but Natsu has already said yes and is following her through another curtain, dragging Gray behind him.

This room is even more full of junk, stacked high to the ceiling along each wall, and they have to cram together around a tiny table in folding chairs. The girl shifts the cards between her hands. They're old, ragged around the edges and hand-painted, and when she lays them down on the table, they don't look like any tarot Gray has ever seen. Thanks to Natsu, he's seen a lot.