For a while, the psychopath and the artist stood next to another underneath the flickering yellow streetlight, letting out puffs of future cancer that floated around their faces. Kai thought that they’d be a pretty picture right then, his duckling yellow sweatshirt and pale jeans (don’t forget the roses) and black boots contrasting the all black attire of the boy next to him. The light reflected off the smoke and around their faces quite prettily, he thought, but he didn’t say anything.
Sami thought that the boy next to him would be pretty laying down on the concrete, a devil’s halo of crimson growing growing growing around his pretty chestnut curls and a big smile stretched across his throat (his best friend was still begging to just fly fly fly out of his jacket pocket). “Hey flower boy,” he drawled, crushing the butt of his burnt out cigarette on the cold concrete beneath his boot. “give me your phone.”
“Why?” Suddenly, those unnerving steel eyes were staring into Kai’s, and the artist truly didn’t know what he had gotten himself into. The fingers that were so close to his throat minutes before (so goddamn close) cradled the back of his neck gently, and then it clicked for Kai. He was whipped for this goddamn psycho. And as the psycho leaned in to press his cracked lips against the cotton candy boy’s, he thought that Sami smelled like Juicy Fruit and cigarette smoke (which was just as addicting as the nicotine he inhaled minutes ago).
Sami saw the boy’s eyes sparkle, and as their mouths met, he swore that the boy tasted as sweet as he looked. And as the cotton candy boy’s hands brushed his waist gently, it hit him. He was whipped for the goddamn sugar boy that tasted like cherry cough syrup (which he was sure the boy drank).
“Give me your phone,” he tried again when their mouths parted for breath. “Wanna see you again.” That was all it took for the art student in the duckling yellow sweater and light jeans with the roses on the pockets (DON’T FORGET THE ROSES) to pull out his old phone and unlocked the cracked screen.
When his number was put in, and Kai had promised to text him, Sami left almost as suddenly as he appeared.
“See you ‘round flower boy”
And Kai was left under that goddamn yellow street light that wouldn’t stop fucking flickering, numbly touching his lips and staring at the crushed butt of a cigarette, his cigarette, that was still sitting there on the cold concrete.
YOU ARE READING
SUGAR AND STEEL
Teen FictionIn which a boy as sweet and sickly as cough syrup and cotton candy meets a boy that tastes like Juicy Fruit and cigarettes (and is best friends with a butterfly knife)
