Work Text:
Nahyuta frowns as they flick the flint wheel of their lighter. They could’ve sworn that they’d topped up the fluid inside it before leaving Khura’in yet it still refuses to light for more than a second, briefly sparking before disappearing and, unfortunately, leaving their cigarette unlit.
Before it was theirs, the lighter had belonged to their father. It’s made of tarnished silver with intricate engravings of a lotus flower swirling around it, its shine faded from years of use. Dhurke had never smoked – at least he hadn’t as far as Nahyuta can remember – but they’d seen him use the lighter for other things: lighting campfires, boiling water and even cauterising the odd wound if the situation called for it. A far cry from the pack of Marlboro Reds it's been burning its way through since Nahyuta got their hands on it.
They don't smoke that often. Just when they're stressed or angry or have had a particularly long day. They like to think they only do it a few times a week, convincing themself it's nothing more than a bad habit they'll easily be able to kick when things start to get better. Though they know, deep down, that if this were really the case they wouldn’t feel so bad taking out their father’s lighter as they stand in the Prosecutor’s Office parking lot for the third time today.
They try once again, flicking at the flint wheel of their lighter with their thumb, holding it up to the cigarette placed between their lips and hoping that the pathetic spark it coughs out will be enough to just light the damn thing already. There’s a brief flash of orange but the slight breeze blowing through the parking lot is enough to snuff it out before the flame can catch the tip of their cigarette. They curse under their breath, their grip on the lighter tightening in annoyance–
“Need a light?” A voice draws Nahyuta from their thoughts. A horribly familiar voice that is, quite frankly, the last thing they want to hear right now. They narrow their eyes as they turn to face the speaker, who’s leaning against the wall a few feet away from them with a cheap-looking lighter in hand.
Usually they’d at least attempt to put up their usual guise of being a holy man, but right now they’ve had a long enough day and little enough luck with their late father’s lighter that the energy they’d usually have to do such a thing is long gone. With as much venom as they can muster, they say, “I don’t want anything from you, Blackquill .”
Their fellow prosecutor laughs at that, a low deep chuckle resonating from his throat as he steps away from the wall and begins to move toward them. “Really?” he asks, “Because you look like you’re struggling a bit with that.” He holds the lighter out in his palm for them to take and Nahyuta spends a few moments trying to decipher his expression, figuring out if there's a catch before reaching out and snatching the lighter from Simon's hands before he can have the opportunity to pull away. They can feel his eyes on them as they flick the flint wheel down with their thumb, breathing in deeply as the cigarette lights. They take a few seconds to inhale the smoke, letting the familiar rancid taste coat their tongue and that long-awaited rush of nicotine to hit them, before they hand the lighter back to the other prosecutor and watch as he does that same.
"I didn't know you smoked," Simon comments, holding his cigarette between his teeth. Grey smoke billows from his lips as he talks, flicking the lighter open and closed a few times before sliding it back into the pocket of his black coat and leaning against the wall. Nahyuta frowns.
"As far as you're concerned, I don't," they tell him firmly. This, unfortunately, doesn't seem to satiate Simon's curiosity.
"Oh?" He cocks his head to the side, giving Nahyuta a grin that can only be described as incredibly punchable. "Why not? It's not like it's illegal."
They turn to glare at him, holding his gaze in an attempt to stare him down. "As far as you're concerned," they repeat, " I don't ." He's an intimidating person, sure; he's tall and broad and carries himself in a way that lets others know his history, even if he doesn't tell them outright. But he's also just a person. There's nothing he could do that would be any worse than what Nahyuta has already had to put up with.
Simon just shrugs. "Suit yourself," he mutters.
The two of them stay quiet for a minute or so. Simon stands close enough to remain in their peripheral, leaning against the wall and flicking through his phone. They look at him out of the corner of their eye, starting to wish that they also had something to occupy themself with as the silence gradually becomes awkward. Perhaps its stress, or maybe even tiredness from the lingering jet lag after nearly twenty five hours of flight (not including three layovers) from Khura’in to LA earlier that week, but Nahyuta is eventually the one to break the silence and continue the conversation.
“I didn’t exactly think you’d be the type to smoke either,” they say. Simon’s response comes surprisingly fast.
“I’m a social smoker,” he states frankly.
Nahyuta can’t help but raise an eyebrow at this, suppressing a chuckle by taking another drag of their cigarette. “Do you think this is a social situation, panda?” they ask him with a smile.
Simon rolls his eyes. “You’re the one talking to me, Sad Monk.”
“You were the one to approach me in the first place.”
“Only because you needed help,” he retorts, “How cruel of me would it be to just let you continue struggling with that lighter of yours?”
Nahyuta opens their mouth to respond before closing it when they realise that they have nothing to say - and even if they did, their energy and patience are both running low enough that it doesn’t seem worth the effort. Perhaps, they think to themself, squabbling with someone who did, at the end of the day, willingly help them out isn’t the best look for them right now. They furrow their brow in annoyance, tapping the ash off the tip of their cigarette with a frown as they hear Simon laugh beside them.
“Haven’t got one for that, have you?” he says. They sigh.
“... I suppose I don’t,” they say, pause, then add, “...Thank you, though. For the lighter. I needed this.”
The other prosecutor lets out a noncommittal hum. “I guess that goes for the both of us.”
The silence returns after that; it’s not quite as hostile as before but it still only takes a few moments to start becoming fairly uncomfortable. Nahyuta allows themself to take a few deep drags, smoke pluming around them and the pleasant buzz of the nicotine (or perhaps just the relief from the craving they’ve been fighting for the last few hours) already taking over. They look back over to Simon, who’s still leaning against the wall with one hand in his pocket, handling his own cigarette in a way that seems bewitchingly natural. Practised, even. They can’t help but wonder how long he’s been doing this for, if it’s a habit stemming from his time in prison or something he picked up before then. As they observe him they note how his lips, chapped and scabbed in places, curl up into a smile as he inhales the smoke, how his body seems to relax a little more with every breath. It seems unlikely that he is, as he says, just a ' social smoker ' but making assumptions feels more than a little out of line, especially when they've only seen eachother a handful of times since their disastrous first meeting the previous year. They're unsure exactly how Simon feels towards them, but they doubt questioning a bad habit will do anything to help–
"You alright there?" For the second time that day, Nahyuta only realises they've zoned out when Blackquill's voice pulls them back into reality. They blink in surprise, meeting his gaze as he frowns at them.
"Sorry?"
"You were staring at me."
"Oh." Nahyuta feels warmth rush to their face as they quickly avert their eyes. "Sorry, I didn't–"
"Long day, huh?"
Nahyuta feels their face grow warm with embarrassment as they quickly avert their eyes. “I assure you that didn’t mean to.”
“It’s fine,” Simon shrugs, “I've dealt with worse.”
Nahyuta isn’t sure if his comment is supposed to be empathetic or just a backhanded remark disguised as empathy, but either way they grit their teeth in annoyance. “Is it that obvious?”
“Mhmm…” Simon hums through his cigarette, “You wanna talk?”
“With you ?”
“Why not?”
Nahyuta can think of about a thousand different reasons why talking about their feelings with Simon Blackquill, in the Prosecutors’ Office parking lot, no less, is a terrible idea. They look back at him, scanning him up and down for any sign that he’s joking but find nothing - then again, he is a psychologist. For all they know he’s just manipulating them. Then again, it’s not like they have much to lose from telling him. At best he’ll help them out, at worst Nahyuta will have just aired some of their own dirty laundry with someone that already doesn’t like them. They eventually shrug, letting out a sigh as they lean against the wall, moving a little closer to Simon in the process.
“It’s just…” they start, before pausing as they figure out what they want to say. “I feel… Bad .”
“Bad?”
“Yes.”
“... Well, I suppose that’s a start.”
Nahyuta just rolls their eyes at his comment. “I don’t do this at home,” they say, “It’s not exactly forbidden – though I suppose it would be frowned upon for a monk – but it’s more that I don’t feel like others need to know. I guess I’m just worried they’d be… disappointed if they found out.” They slip their free hand into their pocket and trace their fingers over the worn-out patterns on their father’s light.
Simon nods slowly, taking in their words. “Makes sense,” he says, though Nahyuta can’t tell if he means it. “I take it you started recently?”
“About nine months ago.”
“I see.”
Nahyuta can practically see the cogs turning in Simon’s head as he processes the information. They’re unsure exactly how much he’s been told about them, how much he knows about the Khura’inese Revolution last year and their father’s posthumous trial; this could be him connecting the dots or simply just a pause while he thinks of what to say next. Nahyuta isn’t sure which one they prefer.
"... So it's your… reputation you're worried about?" Simon asks, head tilted in curiosity. His voice is soft, uncharacteristically so, and he seems almost hesitant in his question. It's a little too close to kindness, coming from Prosecutor Blackquill of all people. They almost miss being insulted.
"I… I suppose so." They let out a dry chuckle. "Though I don't see why it matters to you."
"It doesn't," Simon shrugs, lifting his cigarette back up to his lips. “I guess I just find it… interesting, is all.”
Nahyuta scoffs. “ Interesting? ” they ask warily.
The other prosecutor nods. “You’re very concerned about your reputation for someone who… ah, how do I put this…?” His voice trails off and he frowns in thought, clearly choosing his next words carefully. Not that it matters to Nahyuta – it doesn’t exactly take a genius to figure out what he’s trying to say. And it’s not exactly something that has a nice way of saying it.
Nahyuta kisses their teeth in annoyance, taking the silence as an opportunity to cut him off. “I know what you mean,” they tell him simply. The last thing they need after such a long day is to hear that out loud. Least of all from Simon Blackquill. They take another much-needed drag of their cigarette, leaning back against the wall with a sigh. It’s not quiet by any means – the thrum of distant traffic provides constant white noise that Nahyuta finds never quite fades into the background. But it’s enough that the silence between them, the unspoken acknowledgement that apparently neither of them have the guts to say out loud, is deafening. They almost preferred it when Simon was just insulting them.
By now their cigarette is starting to burn down – it’s still a good few centimetres from the filter but they can’t help but feel a slight pang of annoyance. One that doesn’t worry them nearly as much as it probably should. At least it will give them a reason to end this interaction – and an excuse to buy a working lighter. Maybe having something that doesn’t remind them of their father, of their home, of the reason why they’re smoking in the first place, to light their cigarettes will make them feel better. Maybe .
“Oi, Sahdmadhi.” When Simon addresses them again, it’s almost a relief. A welcome break from their own thoughts. Now isn’t that depressing…
“What is it?” they ask in reply.
“Nothing…” Simon tries to seem nonchalant, but there’s a sincerity in his voice that lets Nahyuta know otherwise. “It’s just... If it helps, Athena thinks I quit last year.”
They raise their brow. “She does?”
“Yeah,” he replies, “I tried to. A few times, actually.”
“What stopped you?”
“Migraines, mostly.” Simon shrugs, “She was really supportive though. I mean, I’d be shocked if she wasn’t. But after the first few attempts I just felt… bad worrying her. So I never told her I picked it back up and… Well, here we are.”
Nahyuta takes a few moments to take in what he’s saying. “...She only worries because she cares about you,” they eventually say, “You’re basically family to her. Even if she is concerned, I’m sure helping you comes before her own feelings. You shouldn’t feel bad about receiving help.”
Simon lets out a dry laugh. “Well, obviously .” He replies, “But listening to that advice and actually using it are two very different things. Aren’t they?”
For a few seconds Nahyuta stays quiet. Places their free hand in their pocket to rest on their father’s lighter. Thinks about their own family. Their siblings. Their country. Tightens their grip on their cigarette as they take another long drag and watches the smoke mingle with their breath in the cold January air.
“Yes,” they finally say, “They are.”