Got a Light?
(not a request, but I've been sitting on this for a bit and decided to finish it up. So, enjoy some David/Paul)
Smoke scrapes Paul's throat as he finishes his third cigarette of the hour, leaned up against the hood of the beat up family car. It's his car, he should just call it that, but every time he tries he hears the words his father had all but spit at him when he'd been handed the keys.
“Listen to me, son. This is a responsibility, I expect you to use it to help this family, not waste time with frivolous nonsense like I know you want to.”
He laughs to himself, though it's a sound that carries no humor. Trust the old man to suck any ounce of joy he could out of freedom. Not that it really was freedom. He couldn't leave. Not with Mom in the state she was, with Mellie and the twins still too young to be left alone.
His eyes land on the church across the street, its lights spilling out golden on the wet grass. They were taking their sweet time tonight, some big fundraising thing that he hadn't bothered to pay attention to. He wasn't allowed to help, so what was the point? Besides, it was women's group. He was supposed to be doing something more serious than bake sales and bazaars.
“Like seminary, yeah, right.” He mutters to himself. A bad habit, but one his Father has yet to beat out of him. He fishes in his pocket for another cigarette. Smoking always made him feel better, kept the shit in his brain under quarantine so it wouldn't bubble up and stain anyone else. Make anyone else a target. He could be the black sheep, gladly, so sue him if it came with craving a vice.
He pats his pockets again, only to come up empty. Fuck.
“Fuck! I'm sure I had-”
“Lookin’ for these?”
Paul nearly jumps out of his skin, wheeling around to see who said that.
A boy is leaning on the side of the car, Paul's pack of cigarettes dangling from his black gloved fingers. He's small, shorter than Paul by a handful of inches. His eyes glint in the streetlight, ice blue and amused.
“How'd you-”
The boy smiles, offering the packet back.
“You should pay more attention, I was standing behind you for a minute before I picked ‘em out of your pocket.”
Paul lets out a disbelieving huff and snatches the cigarettes out of his hand, pulling one out.
“You didn't take my lighter while you were at it, did you?”
The boy smirks, producing Paul's silver Zippo with his other hand. Paul leans over and allows him to bring the flame to the tip of his cigarette, before scooping the lighter back into his pocket.
“So, what's the eldest Harris doing out here, so late?”
Paul sucks a deep breath, holding the smoke in his lungs.
“Who's askin’?”
The boy's smile is as dangerous as a wolf.
“I'm David.”
What the hell. He's got the night.
“I’m Paul. I’d like to get to know you better.”
“I would like that.”
