TASTE: our muses share a cigarette on a swing set in an empty park. - Casey & Kotetsu, for more tension between them hehehe
A grown man sitting on a swingset after dark, alone, because, ironically, a kids' playground has been the quietest place he's been able to find to get a minute to himself in this damn city. The walls of his flat had felt like they were closing in on him—he needed air, he needed out—and the latest in a string of bizarre dreams that had him questioning his own mental state meant that any hope of getting sleep tonight had gone right out the window.
"Really? You're following me here, too?" Alex rolls his eyes when he sees the familiar figure appear as if out of nowhere and settle down on the swing beside him, looking even more ridiculous trying to wrangle himself into the seat that wasn't meant to fit men of either of their heights.
That, at least, gets a chuckle out of him.
He can feel Inoue's eyes on him, hear a shuffle of movement just off to his side—the telltale flick of a lighter, the flash of light as the flame ignites. Alex shoves his hands into his coat pocket—damn thing's always too large whenever he needs to find something he shoved in there and too small when he really needs to hold something—and, after a few seconds, digs out the slightly crumpled box of cigarettes. He deflates immediately, knowing by the weight alone that he's out.
Fuck. He thought he had one last one left. It's his own fault for sticking the box back in his pocket instead of tossing it earlier.
Alex sighs, shakes it to be absolutely certain, then crumples it in his hand and stuffs it back in his pocket.
Again, he promises he'll quit.
Again, he buys another pack—it helps manage the stress without making an ass out of him the way the alcohol does and he needs every ounce of lucidity he's got to deal with this fucking horror show—and promises that once this one's empty, he won't buy another.
This one's empty now and Alex already knows he'll stop by one of the hundred stores open late on his way back home later and buy another pack, restart the cycle all over again. Rinse and repeat.
Inoue's swing stops creaking and when Alex looks over to see what has captured the man's attention, he's met with a hand outstretched toward his face, the already lit cigarette pinched between two fingers, and a joke—because there always has to be one, doesn't there?—about how he looks like he needs it.
He pauses, looking sceptically at the other man before eventually giving in and accepting.
"—You're not gonna say this is your last one or something, are you?"
