Five Times People Thought You Were Dating - SHxReader
4. Have a Cigar
“Hey,” Hyde's voice hissed into your ear, pencil eraser poking the back of your neck. “I need a smoke.”
“So, go smoke,” you muttered back. “First floor bathroom is perfect for that.”
“Outside,” his breath was warm on your skin. “C'mon, we'll skip bio. No one will notice.”
“That you're gone, you always skip bio,” you looked over your shoulder, catching a glance of his bright blue eyes and smirk.
“You know your problem, you're a stick in the mud. A genuine square,” he shook his pencil at you, flat-faced. He knew this was a good manipulation tactic - goading you. It only worked from him. Maybe because you cared very little about what others thought, aside from Hyde.
You frowned, sighed, and nodded. “Fine. Asshole.”
His smile grew broad, “Sweet. Meet you after class.”
“Right,” you were going to get in so much trouble. At least it would be with a friend.
Hyde met you by your locker, pulling off his usual cool guy slouch, sunglasses and all. He looked, head to toe, like a parent's worst nightmare. Hippy, vaguely socialistic, reefer-loving punk. Damn you that you found it attractive.
“Everyone's gonna know what we're doing if you stand like that,” you joked, putting your books away.
“Nah, I told everyone we're hooking up in the bathroom so they won't look for us outside,” Hyde replied casually, examining his fingernails.
“You what?!” you slammed your locker door shut, staring at him red-faced. He only laughed, and you punched his shoulder. “You asshole!”
“Okay, okay, I didn't,” he chuckled, rubbing the spot you hit him. “I was kidding.”
“I'm not rescinding my previous description of you,” you narrowed your eyes, quickly retrieving your purse with your favorite smokes and light inside. Hyde always bought the cheap stuff. If you were gonna get sick with lung cancer and die, you'd like it to be at least a little worth it.
“C'mon,” Hyde took your hand. A practiced motion from childhood, derived from your mother’s instructions before crossing a street. Now it was used whenever you or Hyde felt like it. It added a small sense of security for the both of you. “There's a great spot near the garbage bins…”
“Joy, fresh garbage-scented air,” you snarked but followed all the same, trying not to smile.
“Like we're getting fresh air anyways with all this noxious smoke we're pulling into our lungs,” he smirked, threading his fingers in yours.
“Maybe it's a government conspiracy,” you waggled your eyebrows. “Getting us all to willingly take in small tracking devices or something.”
“Maybe,” Hyde shrugged. “But some things are worth being spied on for.” He opened the exit door for you with a little bow and wave. “For you, milady.”
You stared at him suspiciously, “You're being weirdly nice to me.”
“You're being weirdly… weird,” Hyde scoffed, but you thought you saw pink in his cheeks. “Hurry, before some rat sees us.”
You headed out with a backwards glance, but you shrugged off the odd feeling gathering like a ball in your chest. Hyde shut the door behind you and pulled out a battered box from his jacket, tapping out a single cigarette. He quickly put it to his lips, snapped a light for it, and drew in a deep breath; he let out a stream of smoke with a sigh.
“That's the good shit,” he shook his head, relaxing. You snorted, stealing his hand in yours, and taking a drag. You coughed it out, scowling.
“Cheap shit, Hyde,” you returned to your brand and didn't see how he stared at his cigarette in a mix of disbelief and jealousy. Instead, you sat on the bottom stoop and enjoy the warm breeze. Even if it did smell a bit putrid.
Hyde took a seat beside you, thigh to thigh, “Yeah, well, I like the cheap shit.”
“Reason one thousand four-hundred and thirty-six why you'll never get a girlfriend,” you smirked, flicking ash at him.
“Yeah well, I don't want a girlfriend anyways,” Hyde snorted, fixing his face into a scowl. “It's all a giant Hallmark-sanctioned scam of BS to control the masses.”
You raised your eyebrows over his vitriol, “Wow, so how’s your period been going, Broken Heart Barbara?”
“Shut up,” he laughed, shoving your shoulder, and you counted it as a win. Especially since he didn't stop there. He adjusted, with his elbow balanced on your left shoulder, wrist dangling with the cigarette clamped between two fingers. You naturally leaned in - his musky odor, the faintest trace of marijuana, and nicotine scent a familiar mixture to you. It was easy, being with Hyde, and you loved that. Despite the way your heart raced around him, and sometimes your palms did get really sweaty, and even when he gave you that stupid smirk and seeing his blue eyes… well, all that diminished nothing.
It meant nothing, of course. You ignored the quivering inside of you, trapped it down, and beat it to death with a thousand baseball bats.
There’d be none of that.
“You know,” Hyde got closer, lips closing on his cigarette without moving his hand. His eyes looked up at you just over the rim of his rose-tinted sunglasses. He said your name, wreathed in grey plumes, and was very, very close to you.
He was about to say something, his mouth was opened, his eyes were half-shut, and your heart was about to burst from your chest.
“Ahem,” you both turned to see none other than your vice principal standing behind you.
“I knew we’d get caught,” you groaned.
“Lovebirds, inside,” the stern man jerked his head towards the door.
“We’re not lovebirds,” you both denied in sync with similar, irritated expressions.
“Well aren't you lucky, detentions make great first dates,” the man smirked.