AN: I cried just a little bit. Only a little bit though. I don't know why.

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Song: Daughter- Smoke

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iTuYunp4a3Y

            The street lights are on and he’s walking head down, hands buried deep in his pockets against the 45 degree weather. His navy hood is up over his head, hiding his features and he walks quickly. He doesn’t have anywhere to be; he just wants to be somewhere. A little voice in his head nags him to look back, to turn back. His fingers grip at the cotton polyester blend lining of his jacket anxiously.

            Building. It keeps building and soon his feet are hitting the pavement with such urgency you’d think someone was trying to murder him. His chin quivers and his chest shakes as he runs with absolutely no idea where he’s going. The light drizzle of rain mixes with the tears on his face and deep down he’s glad anyone he passes can’t tell he’s crying. There’s a tingling at the back of his throat and he swallows it to no avail. Kevin angrily wipes at his face, his chest heaving. Up. Down. He loses his footing and suddenly there is no up or down. There is only air. The fall isn’t nearly as catastrophic or dramatic as one would’ve expected. Kevin hits the sidewalk facedown with a pitiful little cry of pain and remains there, partially in embarrassment, partially because his legs refuse to help him up.

            Hands help him up and he does nothing more than cry into the arms of his aid. There are words and questions but none of them make sense. His body hurts. His head hurts. He just wants to disappear—Fold into himself as if he’d never been born into this universe. He didn’t want to be of this world where people are able to hurt. He didn’t want to feel.

            Kevin smells it before he sees it. The stranger helps him into a lounge of some sort. In the smoke filled room he’s sat down gingerly like some priceless Faberge egg. There are sounds, music, voices, too much sensory information for him to process. The knees of his dark wash jeans are ripped, little drops of blood staining the makeshift holes.

“What’s your name?”

He looks up. The man is faceless until Kevin wipes his eyes. “Kevin,” he croaks.

He smiles. “You took quite a spill there.” He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a single band aid. “I’ve only got one. Where do you want it?”

“Whichever cut looks the worst,” Kevin answers.

            Black hair slicked out of his face, all the way back like a greaser, the man kneels in front of Kevin, assessing his array of scrapes before picking the one on his right knee. The gap in his jeans is wide enough that no rolling up of pant legs is required. A napkin is dipped into a clear plastic cup of water and pressed against the wound. Kevin flinches hard, biting his lip, muscles twitching.

“I’m sorry,” the man murmurs quietly, his attention still on Kevin’s knee.

            Kevin can’t make out many of his features, the lights too dim for him to even see his own shoes. He settles for staring at the top of the other’s head, tears subsiding as the band aid covers the worst of the worst.  

“Thank you.”

            The twenty-three year old’s voice is quiet. He hunches over himself, hiding the bruised face he loathes even glimpsing in the mirror. He seems so small and unassuming in that position.

“Do you need a ride home?” The man lights a cigarette, takes a puff, and blows out the smoke. “Kevin?”

“I—I need a place to stay for the night.”

The man frowns. “You should really go home. Your parents might be worried sick.”

The first crack of a smile spreads on Kevin’s face. It feels foreign. “I’m 23.”

“You’re joking. You look like a kid! Don’t take that the wrong way; it’ll definitely be a compliment when you get older.”

It gets a little wider. “Thanks…”

“Eli,” the other prompts.

“Thanks, Eli.”

Another puff. “Do you mind if we wait out the rain? I don’t drive.” Kevin simply nods, fiddling with his fingers as he folds his scraped hands in his lap. Eli sits beside him, leaning back comfortably. “What are you doing out?” Eli asks, trying to make conversation no doubt.

“Taking a walk,” Kevin answers. It’s not a total lie. He was sort-of taking a walk.

“Got a lot on your mind?”

“Something like that.”

            Kevin peeks around his hood to watch the man in the olive bouclé coat smoke his cancer stick.

“Would you like one?” Eli asks, noticing the shy gaze.

Kevin shakes his head quickly. “I don’t smoke.”

Eli nods. “Ah, I apologize.” He reaches for an ashtray and puts out the cigarette without hesitation. “If you’d like we can run to the restaurant next door. They don’t allow smoking there.”

“I don’t mind.”

            They’re both silent for a little while and when Eli shifts slightly, Kevin flinches. Eli remains frozen, afraid to move again. After a while he defrosts and looks over at the brunette. He takes in the moist clothing, dirty sneakers, the lack of any patch of skin showing besides his hands and now knees.

“Did—” He doesn’t know how to phrase it. Eli calls on all the “psycho mumbo jumbo”—as he had called it—he learned back in college and asks instead, “Would you like something to eat?” Everyone always bonds over food. Maybe the other would open up a bit, or at least take his hood down.

Kevin’s eyes practically light up—not that Eli could even see them—and he nods. “Does this place have cheeseburgers? I’d love one!”

Eli smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’ll see what I can do.”

            He wades through the hazy air and groups of friends loitering about to get to the bar. He does Kevin one better: a double bacon cheeseburger with chili cheese fries and a bottle of water. No alcohol. He doesn’t want the younger to feel pressured, especially if he doesn’t drink either. Eli sets down the food, shedding his coat and draping it over the couch before sitting down.

“Oh my God; you’re a saint.”

            Kevin just barely gets his praises out before his face is stuffed, both hands occupied with either the burger or a cluster of fries at the ready for when his mouth is next empty. Eli isn’t sure if the man breathes between bites but it doesn’t necessarily matter. As long as no one’s choking, he’s happy.

“You’re a good person,” Kevin gurgles around the multitude of meat and cheese in his mouth.

Eli shrugs. “It doesn’t take much to be nice.”

Kevin shakes his head. “No. You are,” he insists.

            Time passes. Kevin finishes his meal and hints a bit at where he’d been before running into the other. Eli dances around the subject before coming out and asking what happened. Kevin closes up and when Eli reaches out to comfort him, he bursts into tears. He blubbers and hiccups, his speech almost impossible to decipher, but Eli got the gist. An hour goes by as Eli consoles the poor soul. The patter of rain stops outside and Eli leads Kevin to his apartment not more than fifteen minutes away.

            Shower. Cry. Whimper. Back to business.

Two hours later, Kevin emerged from the bathroom in his borrowed garments, fingers gripping onto the too-long sleeves that would’ve covered his hands otherwise. Little steps lead him to the couch where Eli sits in a white t shirt, checkered pajama bottom, barefoot with thick rimmed glasses on his face as he scans through some articles on the internet. Kevin sits beside him quietly, feet folded underneath himself. He feels safe here.

“You sure you’re okay with me staying?” Kevin inquires.

“I’m sure. Stay as long as you need to.”

“Forever?” Kevin whispers, mostly to himself. This man was nothing like the one he’d finally gotten the courage to run away from. Eli was genuine, open, and possibly the most docile creature Kevin had ever had the pleasure of encountering in that smoke filled room.

Eli looks up. “As long as you need to,” he repeats.