Zeek puts the cigarette to his lips and sucks in another breath; he can feel the smoke burn his tongue as it rushes down into his already tar-filled lungs, the burning in his chest reminds him of when he and Damien used to drink cherry flavored vodka together on cold nights to warm their insides when each-others embrace failed to heat right through. He held it in for a few moments before exhaling, enjoying the way the menthol made his tongue feel like ice, and ignoring the way his eyes water from the smoke in his face. He doesn't like smoking alone, but due to recent events he hasn't had much choice.
It's been two weeks since he's seen Damien, which is longer than he's ever gone without seeing a friend. He understands why Damien's parents don't want their son spending time with him, they are Christians, but he doesn't understand why Damien listens to them. In the four years they'd known each-other Damien'd never let others tell him what to do, and that was something Zeek admired. The smoke was getting too hot for his mouth to handle so he dropped the cigarette to the ground, twisting it into the grass with the toe of his shoe, too lost in thought to notice the figure climbing over the fence and strolling over to stand beside him, pulling out a bottle.
'That menthol's got to be cold.' Zeek nearly jumps at the voice.
'Its fine, I can handle it.' He replies, shrugging. Damien takes a swig from his bottle.
'Want some? It's just some cheap stuff, none of that vintage shit my parents collect, but it'll still keep you warm.' He offers, holding the bottle out in front of the younger teen.
'No, I'm fine. You shouldn't be drinking so much.' Zeek says.
'You don't know how much I drink, we haven't even seen each-other in a fucking fortnight.' Damien says, scowling.
'And whose fault is that?' Zeek asks sarcastically, letting his irritation take control of his voice.
'Yours. I told you my parents were home, and you still wanted to take the risk.' Damien says coldly.
'And this is how you punish me?! Fucking ignore me for two weeks then play the victim?!' Zeek says, throwing his hands up in an exasperated manner.
'I'm not playing the fucking victim! I was grounded!' Damien yells, putting the bottle back into his jacket and turning to face Zeek fully.
'Oh, yeah right, like that's ever stopped you before.'
One hard kick to the fence sees two wooden planks caving in. Damien swears loudly and grips at the sides of his head in a bid to control his temper.
'Why are you so fucking difficult?! They wouldn't let me out, to them this,' he gestures between the two of them, 'is more important than breaking a curfew, or hiding cigarettes. And it is to me too, that's why I risked my ass to be here tonight.'
Zeek looks down at his feet. 'Sorry,' he mutters. Damien takes a moment to gather himself before grabbing Zeek's hand, they stand there in comfortable silence, just enjoying the sounds of the night and the warmth emitting from each-other's palms.
'Damien?' Zeek says, breaking the moment.
'What are we?'
Another silence ensues, this one thoughtful.
'We're us,' Damien replies.
'Well duh.' He let out a forced, nervous, laugh.
'I don't think we need a label.'
'I know but, hypothetically, if we were to have one, what would it be?' Their eyes meet.
'Boyfriends, I guess.'
Zeek smiles. 'That's good.'
Damien takes a step closer and leans down to kiss him, it's a light kiss but the meaning behind it couldn't be clearer.
'Want to come inside?' Zeek asks. 'My parents won't care, and we have milo.'
Damien grins. 'Sure.' Let's out a breath he wasn't even aware he was holding in.
Zeek notices and grins widely. 'You're a fucking idiot.'