Like the turn of a barrel of a gun, echoing in the silence of the room, Harry flicks open the lighter, stares at the flint, slides his thumb slowly over the little wheel at the side.
Click.
Flame dancing in front of him, yellow and orange and he stares, for a moment. Watches it flicker and move, never sitting still. Why doesn't it ever stop? Does it have to keep itself warm? Whatever, chemistry. He doesn't care, not really. Not when all he needs to do is lean forward, cup the flame with one hand, puffing on the stick between his lips until it takes, until he sees the red glow at the end, feels the smoke being drawn into his mouth, washing over tongue and teeth and teasing down his throat.
Click.
The lighter falls with his hands, sliding shut with a twist of his lips and he stands, leaning a shoulder against the wall, staring out the windows of Perry's place. He probably shouldn't be here. He'd made a big deal of moving out. Again. Of moving in with Harmony, that it would work this time around. And yet, here he was, two days later. A dufflebag and a ratty backpack dumped in the middle of the room behind him. Perry would yell at him for that, for not just fucking taking it up to his room but did he really care?
Nah, not at all. Right now all he cared about was taking another drag on his cigarette and letting his mind go blissfully blank for just a moment. (In before well wow, when wasn't his mind blank because uh, fuck you, he has lots of non-blank moments. They just aren't advertised as well.)]
... Fuck.
[Yeah, today isn't his day. Harm dumps him, he has to sneak back into Perry's place with the key he'd forgotten to give back, and now he just burnt himself on his own fucking cigarette ash.
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Like the turn of a barrel of a gun, echoing in the silence of the room, Harry flicks open the lighter, stares at the flint, slides his thumb slowly over the little wheel at the side.
Flame dancing in front of him, yellow and orange and he stares, for a moment. Watches it flicker and move, never sitting still. Why doesn't it ever stop? Does it have to keep itself warm? Whatever, chemistry. He doesn't care, not really. Not when all he needs to do is lean forward, cup the flame with one hand, puffing on the stick between his lips until it takes, until he sees the red glow at the end, feels the smoke being drawn into his mouth, washing over tongue and teeth and teasing down his throat.
The lighter falls with his hands, sliding shut with a twist of his lips and he stands, leaning a shoulder against the wall, staring out the windows of Perry's place. He probably shouldn't be here. He'd made a big deal of moving out. Again. Of moving in with Harmony, that it would work this time around. And yet, here he was, two days later. A dufflebag and a ratty backpack dumped in the middle of the room behind him. Perry would yell at him for that, for not just fucking taking it up to his room but did he really care?
Nah, not at all. Right now all he cared about was taking another drag on his cigarette and letting his mind go blissfully blank for just a moment. (In before well wow, when wasn't his mind blank because uh, fuck you, he has lots of non-blank moments. They just aren't advertised as well.)]
... Fuck.
[Yeah, today isn't his day. Harm dumps him, he has to sneak back into Perry's place with the key he'd forgotten to give back, and now he just burnt himself on his own fucking cigarette ash.
Just. Fuck.]