A/N: Inspired by Panic at the Disco's song Nicotine. I saw an edit and checked the song out. Now I'm addicted and couldn't stop imagining things as this song plays in the background.

Nicotine

Static sound fades into a faint thud. A chord takes the limelight. The drum beats low, it beats high followed by the upbeats of the snare drum combined with the rolling sound from the high and low toms. The beats collide, melt into one. Each pound follows after the other. The continuous rolling sound of every beat unfold and then the guitar starts its hum following the rhythm and the energy of the percussion. The keyboard plays an etude, a lovely one. Fingers move rapidly, repeating two or three notes, pauses and then resumes. The guitar cries, it sound echoes and echoes, reverberates until that final cadence paving the way for another measure. The keyboard resumes, pauses, leaving the percussion to take the centre stage. The song repeats over and over again.

Burn my lungs and curse my eyes.

The song recedes into the background, it becomes a faint murmur, a whisper. In Reishi's mind's eye he traces the length of the bar using the tip of his fingers. At the corner of his eyes, the russet couches were empty, the high chairs as well. There was no one in the bar but the two of them, just how they liked it. The bartender smiles symphathetically, his eyes quite worried that any minute now a fight between the two kings would break out, sweat on his brow. The chandelier glistened as he gazed from it, the dangling crystals looked like diamonds, they sparkled, though their vibrance was no more than a faded version of its original. The wood laden floors which looked much darker in reality, now a faded brown reflected the tallow light that engulfed the interior, its lines, those annual rings symmetrical with the other blocks of wood.

He saunters gracefully, feeling the cement on his skin. The scenery around him shifting so that he was able to make out most of the interior of the bar. He felt like he is nothing but monochromatic in a polychromatic painting. He stopped and tucked his left arm and allowed it to hang on his side. The song comes alive in a crescendo and then bursts into a fortissimo. The guitar, the drums and the keyboard melt into one forming a lovely tune. A bitter lovely tune.

I've lost control, I don't want it back.

He paused for a second.

It's a fucking drag

Everything was standing still, with a flick of his fingers this dimension was to his bidding. He could warp it as he pleases, this was his after all, a fragment of his memory, an information stored in his brain. He puts forth another foot to take short steps enough for a decent walk.

The guitar comes back to life, wailing at the top of its lungs. He sighs and stops where he is.

I taste you on my lips and
I can't get rid of you.

He looks over his shoulder and sees himself. He sees himself with the Red King, sitting together drinks in hand. His face bright, like sunshine, looking at the red, amused.

I'm losing to you baby, I'm no match.

The red on the other hand was not looking at him, he propped his chin on the palm of his hand, a drink in hand. It was bourbon, his favourite. The kind that he always orders whenever they drink together. It was funny to be looking as if he was a stranger, as if this was some kind of sentimental movie that lovers would definitely want to watch. It wasn't. This was no corny love story, this was but a memory frozen in time. Like a faded picture, a frame, a still image as if like they were taken from long time ago.

It's a fucking drag
I'm going numb, I've been hijacked.

A thought comes to mind. He remembered how the red's lips would thin into a chagrin smile, half teasing, half amused. He remembered how he would face him and smirk, those days when he's motivated to do something other than lay in bed and laze around all day.

Your love is a fucking drag
But I need it so bad.

Reishi eyes surveyed Mikoto's face. The tallow lights of the bar reflected on his skin, the shadows on his face deepened the lines on his face. He looked bored. He looked bemused at Munakata's energy. He shifted his gaze to his smiling face. It was awkward looking at himself like this. He noticed his narrowed eyes, crows feet at its corners and a little blush on his cheeks. Reishi stood there wondering what was this all about. He turned his heel and went out of the bar. He heaved a sigh and felt the rays of the sun pierce his skin.

The drum bellows for another verse. An overture if you must to accommodate the longing that comes with remembering the past. Once was supposed to be enough Reshi repeats as the song fades into a hum. He knows very well why he was seeing the past. He knows very well why after Mikoto died he's been like this. The feeling of ache in his heart, the feeling of sadness and grief was honestly beyond his comprehension. But what filled his thoughts now was regret. He should not have gone beyond the threshold. His relationship with Mikoto should not have gone further than being each other's rival. Now he finds himself remembering how both of them after that one sin, that one mistake couldn't stop getting into each other's skin. They couldn't stop themselves from hurrying to get into each other's arms, desperate to feel each other's warmth.

I've been hijacked, it's a fucking drag.

With only a taste, Reishi could no longer bear not to take a plunge in the sensation that the Red King gives him. The memory pains him, he is ashamed of himself. He puts on a stick of cigar in between his teeth and lights it. He rubs his thumb on the gear of his lighter and with a click the sizzling sound of his stick filled his ears. He cups his hand to protect the fire. The flames illuminated his skin and then he craned his neck to look up at the sky, his back against the railings, his left arm dangling, propped up. His sight focused on the vastness of the night sky. The stars winked at him, they gave him that playful twinkle they always do as if the sky was a ball room or a studio where they dance to their delight.

The night air was cold, it sipped into the pores of his skin, into his muscles and to the marrows of his bones, it felt like bitter winter. He sipped on his cigar, his two fingers carefully tucked on his stick, holding it in place. He feels the menthol on his lips creeping up and remembered how much he liked this sensation. He closed his eyes, and allowed the nicotine to penetrate his system, ran through his veins up to his nervous system. He puckered his lips and then a gust of smoke came from his mouth. Deliverance. Though, it did not take the chill from the menthol away from his lips.

I taste you on my lips and I can't get rid of you.

Another stick and then another, until he finished a box. The menthol still lingered. He closes his eyes slowly waiting for it to go away, but it doesn't. Instead he feels something brush on his lip.

I say damn your kiss.

He opens his eyes and met with those familiar golden orbs. They were face to face, their eyes in line holding each other's gazes. The perks of being of the same height he sarcastically remarks in his head. Reishi smirks and steadies himself. This was another one of those frozen stills of his, now he became black and white, colors receding away from him, while the man before him was full of colour, full of vibrance. Yet this was different. This was more than a still, it felt like watching a movie. Mikoto moved, he breathed, he lived. The blue sighs but doesn't move, instead he waits for the scene to finish so that he could light afire to his lungs again.

The man puts a stick on his lips, closing his eyes, bending a bit over so that the angle covered part of his mouth, emphasising his lashes and his thin nose, and those antenna like tufts of hair. He felt him move a bit closer as he lights his cigarette using a flick of the hand. Reishi tightens his grip on the railings and moves away from the red head. Mikoto lifts his head and gazes at Reishi, his golden orbs holding a firm gaze at Reishi's violet ones. Yet his eyes didn't look alive, it was as if he was not really looking at the person in front of him but faraway. He takes away his stick tucked between two fingers and leans in closer. Reishi knows what was coming, they've done this a million times already. He closes his eyes, tilts his head to the side and opens his mouth slightly as Mikoto exhales smoke directly on his mouth. The sensation of menthol was still there on Reishi's lips.

Breathe in breathe out, the pace of his breathing resonated with the phantom Mikoto. He felt him move closer again. He didn't lift his eyes, to see what the apparition was up to. He felt his arms cross on his on the railings, pressing him but not really touching him. The wind cooed, blowing his hair, he tucked tassels of hair behind his ear to keep them in check. He didn't open his eyes because he didn't want to gaze into Mikoto's eyes more than necessary. He didn't want to gaze in his two golden voids. The wind became a sweet lull, he relaxed a bit, when he was about to open his eyes, the lull of the wind became distinct sounds of his name. A husky and monotonous voice filled his ears, that familiar dull and deep voice.

Mu-na-ka-ta.

Damn your kiss and the awful things you do.

His lips quivered. The menthol still lingered, it burnt his lip. He inhales as the seconds drag on and composes himself. Any minute now, this hallucination will stop and he'll become sane again, free from this ghost, free from this phantom that haunts him. He felt the apparition lean closer for a kiss, the usual thing he does whenever the Blue is too close for comfort. This was the part where Mikoto would be overwhelmed by a burning sensation in his loins. Reishi knows this far too well, he knows that this is the part where Mikoto steals him a kiss. This is the part where everything would fade into the background but Reishi's closeness and the way he gives himself to the Red King. When nothing else matters but the glow of Reishi's alabaster skin, looking so smooth against the moonlight. Where Mikoto can't help but study the length of his matted lashes, full and long, making him want to kiss the Blue's eyelids. The wind running through Reishi's ocean coloured hair as he waits for Mikoto to do something, anything but leave. Mikoto's golden orbs pierce Reishi's skin. His stare firm and unwavering embedding into his mind Reishi's beauty reminding himself how slender and so fragile he is in his arms.

You're worse than nicotine.

Reishi melts. This is the part where he breaks down and cry. The Hallucination fades into the dark, the phantom disappears right before his eyes.