#Jaehuyngparkian

[ahgaru]

Cigarette [Day6 fanfic]

Pairing: Jaehyungparkian // Park Jaehyung x Kang Younghyun Word count: 3,210 // cigarette, smoking, make out, more make out, mention of sex, mention of death //

Summary: Younghyun wants to be a singer; Jae wants to be a musician. Younghyun is a smoker; Jae offers a substitute to make him stop smoking -- for his voice's sake. Younghyun got a new addiction. Note: This was made because of Cigarette by Offonoff Well..... I don't usually write this kind of stuff but here it is... Hello.And i know I'm not done with Don't Stop The Rain's epilogue yet but here's a jaehyungparkian one-shot first.

In a dark narrow alley, slender fingers that were clutched turned red from pouding a wall. Sneakers covered with mud, and with a splash of dirty water from stepping on a pool of raindrops on the road earlier, were also hammering the bricks.

A black-haired young man, sitting on the ground from a close distance, flashed his eyes open upon hearing the thumping on the wall and the curses pronounced by a slim fellow. He leaned his head on the wall, fished out a pack of cigarettes from the back pocket of his jeans, took a stick and lighted it.

As profanities escaped the mouth of the man kicking and hitting the wall, smoke came out from the other's. Getting irritated by the quibbling of the tall young man, the black-haired stood up and strode toward him. He stretched out his hand and offered the cigarette locked between his left index and middle fingers.

The silver-haired stared at it cluelessly before placing his gaze at the fox-eyed, trying to widen his tiny eyes in question. The illumination from the street light near the alley and the not-so-birght-moon traced the outline of the half part of his face. It was an adorable sight; the not-so-innocent eyes with a glint of sorrow and passion piercing through the black-haired's made his heart be enveloped in a familiar warmth. The latter unconsciously raised both of his eyebrows upon seeing the countenance of the young man, who, in this moment, looked like a lost child (despite his height which the black-haired thought is almost 6 feet) needing help, he's irritated by just a moment ago. He brushed off the feeling and urged him to take the coffin nail from his hand.

"I'm--I'm allergic," he stuttered.

The shorter raised a brow and smirked, thinking that the other's excuse was lame. "You won't be allergic after you try it," he encouraged "Don't be a p*ssy and just take it"

"No," he deadpanned "I'm literally allergic to almost everything." The fox-eyed put down his hand, still unconvinced to what the other was saying. "I'm allergic to almost all fruits, the grass, pollens, furs--"

"Such a pity," the black-haired said insincerely before he huffed a smoke. "Alcohol?"

"I can take it--a bit"

The shorter walked toward where he was seated before. He bent down to take two bottles of beer before striding back to the taller. He handed him a bottle before he crouched beside him. The silver-haired followed. He took a gulp right after he sat beside the shorter.

The sound of the engines passing by, the footsteps of people walking here and there and their imperceptible conversations replaced the silence that covered them. The taller saw the other chugged up at the corner of his eyes so he took a gulp from his also--trying not to grimace. When the younger puffed a smoke again, the silver-haired looked away with a clenching jaw. He's always hated cigarettes. He then wondered the reason behind why the black-haired was smoking--still, he hated it.

"My mom wants me to be a doctor and go back to Los Angeles," the taller broke the silence. The other eyed him for a second before taking a gulp from his bottle of beer once more. "but I don't really want to. And I failed three exams today," he chortled bitterly before swigging the beer.

"I want to be a singer," the other started to open up which brought light to the eyes of the taller after hearing a word that his heart has always been so familiar with, "but no one believes in my songs" he shared nonchalantly before letting out a smoke.

The silver-haired shifted his eyes from the smoke to the shorter man's profile. His eyes traced the outline of his face; from the forehead, to his nose and they settled on his lips. His chest tingled. He averted his gaze and fumbled with the bottle. He cleared his throat and blinked hastily, trying to brush off the 'awakened' sensation he got few seconds ago.

"C-can you let me hear it?" he requested and the other obliged.

The moment the black-haired opened his mouth and his own song escaped from it, it went straight to the taller's ears and to his chest, penetrating his heart. His body hair saluted to his soothing yet piercing voice. The lyrics spoke sorrow and bitter-sweet experiences. He clenched his fists trying not to shed a single tear.

"How is it that no one believes in your music?" the taller quizzed.

The singer just shrugged and took a hit from his stick again, thinking that the guy beside him just admired his song because he didn't know much about music. The latter furrowed his brows after taking another gulp of beer when he saw the shorter breathing in from his coffin nail once again.

He didn't know if it's the alcohol kicking or the other's voice pushing him, but he hastily snatched the cigarette stick from the other and leaned closer to him crashing his lips on the other's and tried to deepen it a second after.

Caught in surprise by the taller's unpredictable action, the shorter's eyes widened and his breathing hitched. He pushed the silver-haired and irritation started to paint on his face.

"What the--what was that about?" he queried with his forehead furrowed. "I'm sorry but I don't swing that way, man"

The silver-haired stared back at him blankly as if what he did wasn't a big deal at all. "I hate seeing people smoking"

The fox-eyed raised a brow, "Then what? You kiss every smoking stranger you see?"

The taller's jaw tightened and his hand on his right knee clenched, "My father died from lung cancer" The black-haired's face softened. "And you have a goal, don't you? You want to be a singer. I know how it feels when no one believes in you. I want to be a musician but no one believes that I can be successful in the music field." He huffed as he tried to sit on the ground to relax himself "But even if no one believes in me, even if other people are trying to make another path in my life, I'm not giving up in music. You have a very charming voice, and don't ruin that. Your nerves can be damaged because of smoking, you can have throat cancer or cancer of the esophagus. And if you continue that, it's like you're proving that those people who don't believe in you are right--how can you be a successful singer when you're already destroying yourself now?"

The shorter batted his eyelids. The corner of his mouth raised and he chortled amusingly. He wanted to retort but he's so taken aback that he couldn't find words to articulate.

"That's why," the taller continued "stop smoking and continue to reach your goal. I know it's hard to stop it especially if it's helping you psychologically--it may be helping you become calm or I don't know--but for the sake of music, you need to. And because I know it's hard to stop it, I thought I can offer you a substitute"

"Substitute?" the fox-eyed creased his forehead once again.

"I can be your cigarette," the taller declared without a hint of hesitation and with determined eyes darting on the other's.

The black-haired laughed it off. It's a ludicrous idea, he thought. But the next night, after his gig, he went outside of the bar, as usual, stayed in that dark alley, and when he fished a box of cigarette from his pocket and was about to take a stick, he remembered the silver-haired young man and the warm and soft sensation of his lips against his own. He unconsciously bit his lower lip as he remembered what happened last night. His chest started pounding fast and loud.

"I can be your cigarette," the appeasing voice of the said young man echoed in his mind. He squeezed the pack of cigars in his hand and tightened his jaw before putting the box back to his pocket and let out an air.

He leaned back on the wall, looked up and sighed once more. He put his hands in the pockets of his jeans. He bit his lip again as he remembered everything that the stranger has said--to take care of his voice and stop smoking if he wants to pursue his singing career. But he's really craving for a fag right now.

His forehead furrowed as he exhaled a sharp breath. "I'm going crazy," he voiced after he realized he's waiting for the silver-haired guy. So much for 'not swinging that way'. Maybe that's why he thought he's going crazy--he's not supposed to look forward to that substitute but he actually was.

The taller went around during this time last night but he still hasn't come. The black-haired huffed and ran a hand through his hair. He sat on the ground, one leg relaxing, and the other was raised. He clenched his hand and hit the other leg--a sign of impatience.

Almost half an hour has passed and a pair of footsteps were starting to come closer. He looked up and saw the tall young man trying to catch his breath. He's leaning down, hands on his knees, and his shoulders kept going up and down. A guitar case was strapped on his shoulder.

The shorter stood up and kept mum. The other straightened up and started telling why he has come a little late than he did yesternight. The former didn't hear a word--as if he's watching a movie on mute or a movie with a different language that he couldn't comprehend what the other was saying. His eyes were focused on only one thing--the taller's mouth. His own agaped as he watched the silver-haired's lips moved as he spoke.

He took a gulp and a step closer, putting a hand at the back of the taller's head, pulled him closer and met his lips. Although surprised, the taller obliged. He rested his hand on the waist of the shorter and responded to the kiss. Just when he was about to deepen it, the black-haired pulled back.

"I needed a toke," the shorter explained--a bit embarrassed by his action because it's like eating his words from last night. Who doesn't 'swing the other way' but kisses a man first?

The taller let it slide and decided not to mention anything about it. Instead, he talked about the guitar he brought with him.

"This is Mery," he introduced "my best friend. I brought her with me so I can accompany you. But this is an electric, so I couldn't really play it right now because we would need an amp. I wanted to bring Taylor, the acoustic, but it's in my mother's room and we fought so I didn't have the chance to get it"

That's the only time the shorter noticed the scartch on the face of the silver-haired and a welt on his left cheek. He didn't stick his nose and tried not to mind it.

"I have an amplifier in my place," he offered.

The night seemed to be staying still when they indulged themselves to the music that the taller produced and the lyrics that the shorter intuned.

Their heartbeats seemed to be dancing freely to the rhythm that was pervading the room. Their hearts were covered with familiar warmth that shouted intimacy and whispered romance--their fond of each other, but romance was still so subtle. Excitement surrounded their tickers and mystique grew bigger.

They feel like they just found the missing note on their scale; that a melody was added to the rhythm of their existence making it more colorful; that their dissonant lives now have harmony.

"You wanna go on a gig with me?" The younger, which was the black-haired, asked with a hint of hope, thinking the silver-haired may be the missing piece to his singing.

"You do gigs?" an eyebrow raised in question.

"We met at the back alley of the bar I work at," he shrugged as the other's mouth agaped "I sing there three times a week."

The night was already deep when the silver-haired put his guitar down and started to pack up. The younger stood up and paced toward the veranda. The taller's eyes followed him and saw his hand take the pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He immediately walked toward him and tapped his shoulder softly. The moment the shorter turned to look at him, he collided his lips to the other's.

The black-haired, taken aback, stepped backward and hit the railing. When he started to relax, he let go of the cigarette pack and held the waist of the slim fellow, pulling him closer, as the latter put his arms around the shorter's shoulders.

"I thought you're straight," the older teased with amusement painted on his face when they pulled back, still in the same position "but you're so into kissing me"

The black-haired narrowed his eyes, "I just needed cigarette," he licked his lower lip "and you told me to take care of my voice. I'm just taking your offer."

The taller smirked and locked his lips with the younger's again; this time, deeper. The latter's hold tightened and the older leaned closer as they became more and more intoxicated with each other's taste.

"It's Jae," the older answered when the younger queried his name. They're laying down side by side on the black-haired's bed. Jae asked to stay the night at the other's place because he didn't have a place to sleep at. "How about you?"

"Younghyun"

"Don't you have an English name or something?" Jae quizzed as he raised a hand to rest his head, turning to his side to look at the younger, "Younghyun is long, and Young or Hyun is awkward. How about I give you an English name?"

"I don't need one," Younghyun retorted.

"Brian," Jae declared, not paying attention to what the black-haired has said. The latter creased his forehead and asked why, "Because you look like a Brian"

Younghyun furrowed his forehead more before raising a brow and shaking his head. His eyes rested on Jae's lips again and unconsciously bit his own. The older noticed it and beamed.

"Do you need your cigarette?"

"Uhh," Younghyun averted his eyes "I usually take a puff before sleeping"

Jae compeled and moved closer. Resting a hand on the younger's chest, he started planting small kisses on the other's lips before fixing it in place. When he started to open his mouth, Younghyun breathed in before responding. The latter's hand, which was behind his head, draped between the taller's jaw and neck.

Brian, as Jae calls Younghyun, was drawn to the older's lips. He kept yearning for it more than he ever did for cigarettes. He'd try to let Jae see him taking a cigarette stick just so the taller would take it away from him and kiss him; he'd intentionally act restless if the 'cigarette stick' tactic was already used three times within the day.

They walked the music path together--made songs and did gigs. Their connection grew over time. Younghyun didn't need to pull some tricks anymore just to have Jae's lips on his. Sometimes, he'd just stare at the older, or call his name, and Jae would understand right away (there's a certain expression that the younger always has and a certain tone his voice would make whenever he would need his cigarette).

As days passed, the kisses advanced. Tongues started to join, hands began exploring, and hips commenced grinding. They would always make out whenever they get a chance; usually at the back alley of the bar.

Jae would always spend the night after every gig. His fight with his mother has also gotten worse, which Brian knew nothing about. Jae would stay at his friend's place whenever he's not sleeping at Brian's because he left home already.

Things got heated. The usual make out sessions escalated. It first happened during a rainy night when Jae just had his hair dyed black, and he appeared on Brian's apartment door soaking wet from the rain. He walked to Brian's place, despite the heavy pouring, from his friend's house because no one was there.

It was a titillating sight for Brian. Never had he thought that he would feel that way towards a man. Instead of asking Jae what happened, he grabbed him hastily and proceeded to mess up the older's lips. They're hungry for each other. Without breaking contact, they found their way to Brian's room. No one uttered a word, no one asked if it's okay to go beyond the line. It's as if saying a single word would break the spell.

Neither of them regretted what happened. But neither of them also talked about it. It didn't happen always, but it did at least once a week.

Brian was indenial. Jae knew his own feelings as clear as crystal. They both wanted to know what they had, but afraid of asking the other. They both thought they already knew the answer--that Brian was just addicted to the kisses and sex as replacement to his cigarette addiction; that Jae was just doing the 'obligation' he assigned for himself.

No one dared to make clarifications; both were afraid of the confrontation, thinking one question would ruin their current situation.

"Brian"

Younghyun hated that name on day one. But he loved hearing it every time it would escape Jae's mouth--every time he'd moan it, utter it needingly, or say he calls for him the moment he'd wake up.

Letting out a smoke, Younghyun shifts his gaze to the person who shouted 'Brian'. His heart twitches as he smiles pitifully to himself. He was just reminiscing about him and now he just heard someone pronouncing the name that he gave him.

It's been exactly a year since his last cigarette. It was a fine day when Jae told him to go on a café with him. They ate cake, went to see a movie, played on arcade, took sticker photos, and made love when they arrived home. It was basically a date. And their intercourse that night was a little bit different. It was more than just lust, addiction and obligation. It was slow and sweet yet it seemed emotive than any other sex they had.

He didn't see him after that night. The moment he opened his eyes, no sight of Jae can be found. After a week, he then knew why that last night was different--because he will leave him. And he was sure of it after a month has passed. Now, it's been a year but the hope hasn't still faded.

He huffs as he throws the butt on the ground and steps on it to put out the flame. He's back to smoking for half a year now. He just finished a fag but he still craves for more--more than just a tobacco rolled in a narrow cylinder.

He misses Jae's lips.

He longs for Jae's warmth.

He yearns for Jae's presence.

He needs his cigarette.

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