Hey, here's another chapter (already). 2 in one day—dang! Don't expect I'll keep that up XD. Anyway, enjoy~
Murdoc:
You stumble slightly down the hallway, not even realizing how badly you've just fucked up. You mouth is dry and your lips are horribly chapped as you fumble in the back pocket of your distressed jeans to find the semi-crushed pack of Lucky Lungs cigarettes and lighter. The former is found with ease, however the ladder presents a certain roadblock to your de-stressing plans. You're sobering up rather quickly and you slowly slump to the ground, sitting with your back against the cracking wallpaper, head hanging in defeat. You awkwardly flip the pack open, staring at the last two cigarettes resting inside quietly. Uselessly. What's happening? You look around, a small panic overtaking you briefly. You flip the pack over and over in your hands, hoping for a miracle, but, as usual, one doesn't present itself readily. Not at all, you decide after spending some time just sitting there numbly. The hallway is rather dark, and you kind of squint to see if anyone else is around. You can hear assorted video game sounds somewhere in the distance and conclude that Noodle is busy playing video games. Judging by the sounds, it would appear she is currently playing some game in the genre of action and adventure. With Russ, maybe. Suddenly, your eyelids begin to droop and you attempt to rub at them with your hands, but give up, letting the pack drop to your lap against a small hole in your jeans. You fall asleep almost immediately.
/
Your nose twitches, inhaling the familiar, comforting scent of nicotine. You have no idea how long you've been out, but one of your eyes opens a bit, and through fuzzy vision you can make out a figure sitting slouched a little farther from you. Your head is fucking pounding. Opening the other eye, you realize it's Faceache and he's got one of your last two cigarettes planted between his lips. You make a move to jolt up, but the pain in your muscles denies you, and you try to sit up slowly, rubbing at your eyes til you see stars. 2-D looks at you with those expressionless hollow eyes that are both your fault and your guilty pleasure. Because deep inside, you love that eyes like that. They're perfect. And you love it when he smiles, revealing the fact he's missing two of his front teeth, others discolored and jagged. But he isn't smiling, and now you're frowning a bit. "Stu…" you mutter, almost labored. He doesn't turn or move as to acknowledge you've spoken, just exhales lazy smoke rings, which you watch mesmerizingly float into the awkward air separating you two. "'Ey! Faceache..." you manage a bit louder this time, leaning toward him a bit. He doesn't budge, and you wipe your hands on your jeans without purpose, coughing a bit for no reason either. You notice the pack of cigarettes is laying near you on the splintering wooden floor and you reach out to grab it, before realizing it's actually a brand new pack. Your reddened eyes open a bit in shock as you pack your new smokes, tearing off the shrink-wrap plastic and removing the foil paper piece before plucking out a fresh cigarette. Fuck. You still don't have your sodding lighter, you realize, frowning and sighing simultaneously.
And that's when 2-D crawls over to you, taking his lighter and flicking the tiny wheels igniting the flame and holding it to the tip of your cigarette. It's color is so soothing, you almost forget what you're supposed to do. Remembering, you take a few puffs to light it, nodding before inhaling deeply, feeling the smoke fill your lungs, coating them with yet another layer of black toxic waste. You sit up more, crossing your legs, and sighing heavily, rubbing your head. Why is he upset with you this time? You scan his face in the dim light, noticing a bruise along his jaw, a cold sweat forming on your brow immediately. Remember what happened? You kind of do. Only a bit, really. "Can I…?" You say in an almost inaudible whisper, reaching out toward 2-D's face. He pulls back a bit, and you guess that it's probably instinctive by now. "I won't hurt ya, Stu, I'm sorry…" you look at him, then down, taking another drag of your cigarette, ashing it onto the floor below. You observe as the ashes flutter to the wood below peacefully. You exhale the smoke before drawing it back into your mouth and then exhaling out the side of your lips expertly. You watch as the smoke rises upward to the ceiling, the lamp littered with cobwebs. It should be cleaned, you think to yourself, and then that thought is over, and you're back to trying to figure out what happened last night.
2-D's cigarette cherry burns almost down to the filter before he decides this one's done. But instead of putting it out against his shoe or the ground, he crushes it right against the skin of his hand. You almost wince involuntarily, lunging forward and grabbing it out of his thin fingers. How can you do this now, when you couldn't just a few minutes ago? Adrenaline, you guess. He squeaks, drawing away, hugging his knees tightly to his chest, burying his face in his knees. His azure-blue bangs fall deadly forward, brushing against the fabric of his pants. He's shivering a bit, but you've already fucked up. Well, twice now. So instead of reaching out to offer comfort, you do the only thing you're good at doing—you stand up and leave.
Sorry it's still sad and short. T^T But it needs to be for context. I'd love some feedback. xoxoxo