#doing that

transcript: dewei: fuck, it’s cold… the snow came quiet. It dulled everything-the sky, the rooftops, even the breath curling faintly from his lips. morning had technically arrived, but the sun hadn't. just a low, overcast light, like the world hadn't really woken up yet. dewei sat slouched back on the porch steps in nothing but a wife beater and thin pajama sweats, like the cold didn't apply to him. his left arm was propped lazily on the arm of the chair, cigarette burning slow between his fingers. his right arm rested over his stomach, hand rising and falling with his shallow breaths. smoke drifted out of his mouth, merging with the cold, and he didn't bother to flick the ash that clung stubbornly to the end. he should go back inside. emery would be up soon-probably already was. crying, maybe. or babbling to herself like she had someon listening. dewei should care. he did care. that's what made it worse.