One-Shot Collection - Keanu Reeves.

-𝙅𝙤𝙝𝙣 𝘾𝙤𝙣𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙚 -

*TW: talk of suicide, drug use, self-harm*

"Want one?"

I stare at the cigarette between his lips. The paper and tobacco slowly burns as he inhales and exhales. I always wondered what it was like to smoke one of those. I never understood how people could get addicted to them. I breathe in, sighing. I nod my head and he smirks through the burning stick on cancer between his lips. He reaches into his coat, pulling out a pack of silk cut. He pulls out a cigarette handing it to me. I trace over it with my fingers, examining it. I place the orange tip in my mouth, gesturing to him to light it. He pulls out his lighter, flipping it open and dragging it to my lips. He pulls his hand away closing the lighter, stuffing it back into his coat. The end of the cigarette burns, filling my lungs with smoke. I pull it away from my mouth, coughing.

"John, it taste like battery acid" I say between coughs. He drops his cigarette, putting it out with the toe of his shoe. He picks his box of Chinese food up from beside him, eating a mouthful. I place the cigarette between my lips again, smoothly inhaling. This isn't actually that bad. I pull it away, blowing a cloud of smoke from my lips. "That's the best part" he laughs. He laughed. John never laughs. I smile, becoming familiar with the sound of his deep laugh. "I've been smoking since I was 15.. it helped with coping" I nod, picking up my own box of hot ramen with my free hand. I inhale, exhaling smoke once last time before handing it John to let him finish. I eat my ramen, thinking. "Did your parents find out?" I say with a mouthful of ramen. John hesitates, eyes drifting from the ground to me. He is always hesitant about sharing his past. I understand why though, he doesn't exactly have the best childhood to share.

"Yeah, they did...but I think they preferred that I smoked then try to..." he didn't have to finish the sentence. John never really liked talking about his suicide attempt that he had when he was 15. He claims that the whole seeing demons thing was a big part in it, but I think he also had some personal issues going on as well. "I get that" I say quietly. It's not like anyone can hear us in the empty street, except for the guy working at the Chinese food truck across the street. "John" I add, looking directly at him. His gaze to look at mine, not afraid to burn his stare into my face. "yes?" "Why don't you talk about your childhood?" His once blank expression quickly turned into a cold look. He looks away, eyebrows furrowed. "Why do you care" he says, scorning me slightly. Looks like I hit a soft spot. "I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry" I say quickly. He angrily pulls out a cigarette, lighting it.

He pulls the cigarette from his mouth, looking at me once again. "There's nothing interesting about my past. learn that now." I can feel my heart sink as he becomes more and more cold. He started opening up and I screwed it up, I always do. I finish the last of my ramen, setting beside me on the bench. "I know what it feels like John. You aren't the only one who saw those half-breeds" I state coldly. He blinks a couple times, taken back from my coldness. I watch him inhale and exhale his cigarette. "I always thought I was insane, but I also knew I couldn't tell anyone. I decided that I rather never tell a soul about what I saw then be put in a mental hospital, jacked up on drugs for the rest of my life." the words pour out of my mouth, old wounds reopening. Our eyes meet each others, speaking to each other without words. He nods his head in understanding. There's a long silence between us, making me shift from being uncomfortable. I stare off into the night sky, trying to find the stars. I've never opened up like this to him. Even though we have been working together for a year or so, we avoided talking about our personal life. I think John avoided it because he didn't want to grow attached. He didn't want to have a personal connection cause he knew if I died, he'd be hurt.

"What did you do?" he says. "what do you mean?" "to cope, what did you do to cope?" he restates. I bite my lips, repressed memories rising in my brain. I slump my shoulder, leaning my head back a bit and crossing my arms. "Cut" I say quietly. I feel his eyes scanning me, looking for evidence. "But I don't really want to talk about" I add. His eyes move away from my body to my face. His eyebrows furrow, eyes searching mine. I understand now why he got so defensive. I can feel tears building up in my eyes as I experience past memories, replaying in my head over and over again. Sometimes I can still remember my mom screaming at me when she walked in on me. Her screams were not angry screams, they were horror movie screams. She couldn't understand that her little angel wanted nothing more but death. I sniffle a little, drawing John's attention. I look at his eyes as silent tears roll down my cheeks. I pluck the cigarette from his hand, finishing the rest. I understand now why people can get addicted. It's an emotional support drug. John was never one to comfort others. He always kept to himself and avoided touch unless necessary. He rejected affection. I bring my eyes to his, letting him comfort me without touch. His stare was different then the others, it was understanding and comforting.

"thank you...for being open with me" he says quietly, looking away from me once again. 

"I know."