Another drabble, this one considerably shorter than most. Again from Snake's POV, but this one is a bit more friend-focused than actual slash. Then again, it can be twisted into yaoi if you REALLY want to look at it that way.

Please enjoy :D

"What I think about vandalism, drugs, and smoking…everything you need to know about living in the city."

The little pamphlet at my feet blared the first section in bright purple block letters, the second half on bolded black. Sucking in a breath of nicotine, I held it in my lungs as long as I could manage to grasp the precious tar, and then spat it at the ironic little words. No one could tell you how to live in the city. You just know. You just live.

Stretching my back and shrugging my shoulders, I stubbed the last of my cigarette and started on my way back to our little hideaway in the dump, scooping up the pamphlet as an afterthought. The title repeated its message over and over again, almost mocking in a way. Though it was open-ended, it seemed to carry a negative connotation. I'm sure for a "normal" person it would. What would be conjured up in their minds, I wonder? Probably a delinquent, if not a group, sitting around in a dump or in an alleyway, smoking dope or dropping acid, tagging the surrounding walls and property, mugging old ladies for cash to get another fix.

Well hell, that sounds like me and the rest of the gang. I let hissing laugh escape as I slink down the back alleys toward home. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't hooked on nicotine. I'd be lying if I said I don't occasionally swipe a few dollars from open pocketbooks to get a pack or two. I'd be a really big liar if I said I didn't tag my share of subways. Hell, I used my name. Came out pretty damn nice too. Boss even complemented me on it. That was a big plus.

"Speak of the devil…" I hadn't meant for that to slip. He was waiting for me, looking for me. And now he knew where I was and approaching me. Damn. I know I said I liked smoking, but he doesn't. Not all of us delinquents are the same, ya know. I may like smoking, tagging, and the occasional spray-paint high, but Ace isn't exactly all agreeing. Tagging? Sure; his name is plastered all over the subway lines and on the side of most of the downtown buildings. Getting high? Well, not so much. He said he got sick to the point of free-clinic stay and sworn off the stuff since. Smoking? Big no-no. He hates it more than the police, truant officers, and snooty rich people combined. All they are to him are a waste of money and time, and, get this "a hazard to my health and the health of the gang."

"Well?" A pause. In all my musing I didn't notice him standing in front of me, his arms crossed and 'you're-in-deep-shit' frown on his face. "Where ya been Snake?"

"Ah… w-wells…"

"Shadup you. What did I tell you 'bout goin off like that?" He huffed and straightened himself before I could answer "I'm sick of ya goin off and chugging down those ova priced cancer sticks. Yer gonna kill yerself."

Ah, the leader-to-crony guilt trip. Classic and always effective. I could only stutter before he hauled my up the collar too look him straight in the face. "I'm not gonna tell ya again, Smokey. The next time I catch you sucking that shit I'm gonna beat the tar outta yer lungs myself!"

With that threat, I was dropped, left to nod dumbly at my leaders' verdict. He stalked away, kicking an empty spray can. He looked back, still scowling.

"Let's go Snake. We need some grub before nightfall."

Well, at least he cares.

Please R&R and have a pleasant day :)