Linc got high mostly when alone. Occasionally he'd stumble home early in the morning lit up after a night with friends, but Michael could never recall Linc bringing any of them home to party. Michael wanted to think that his brother had wanted to protect him, but he knew that Lincoln had kept his friends away for much more selfish reasons.
They never spoke of it. Lincoln didn't go out of his way to hide himself from Michael--hell, he never even locked the bedroom door--but then Michael always knew better than to address any problem directly.
Michael would come home from school never knowing if the silence was due to an empty apartment or a strung-out brother. When Michael was lucky, he found he could smell the thick air as he entered the small apartment. When he wasn't so lucky, he'd find his brother sprawled on his back, breath barely discernable. Sometimes Michael thought he was most lucky when honest silence was all he found.
Today he could smell it from the dingy hall. Michael usually sat in the kitchen on such days, his back pressed against the refrigerator as he traced patterns on the yellowed linoleum. He usually waited in that cramped space until the shadows fell and Lincoln emerged of his own accord. Usually Michael waited, but today he found himself approaching their room.
He had merely a passing interest with drugs, due only to his brother's acquaintance. Yet he had wanted to watch him, he wanted to see what had captured his brother so.
Linc was lying on his back as Michael entered the room. His lethargy seemed more from physical exhaustion than from the actual pot--although Linc had smoked enough of it not to notice Michael approaching the bed. As he edged closer, Michael hoped that was the only drug in his brother's system that day. Linc held a joint idle in his hands, only bringing it closer to himself as he felt Michael's weight sink into the bed.
Instinctively, Lincoln brought the joint to his mouth, eager to maintain his solitary calm. Michael watched him, wondering at the degree of his haze. He watched as fuzzy smoke billowed from Lincoln's mouth, only to slow into a stupor of its own. Michael noticed it didn't curl and tease as cigarette smoke did, but rather became as heavy and lifeless as his brother's form beside him.
Again Lincoln brought his hand to his mouth, a movement that would have been jarring to Michael's resolve, had it not been so lazy. Before the smoke had lost its body and become part of the shapeless mass about their heads, Michael brought his mouth down, catching and trapping the fragrant air. He hadn't thought about it, hadn't planned how best to take and receive the smoke. He didn't mean to graze his brother's lips, hadn't meant to hold his mouth so wide that he could feel moist, hot breath. Michael jerked back, coughing slightly from what he hoped was the smoke's tickle at the back of his throat.
Lincoln's eyes were open, but he wasn't truly looking at his brother. Michael still lingered above him, lips parted and eyes watering. He shifted his weight and allowed his body to relax beside Linc's, wondering idly how many more days like this there'd be.