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One turns into five fast.
It was only meant to be one cigarette, one. But one turns into five, and five turns into ten. They add up so quick, and Adam struggles to wrap his head around it. He was sat on his bed, well, the bed he shared with Lawrence. The random metal album he was listening to had stopped playing probably 30 minutes ago, now replaced with complete silence, an ashtray sat next to him, on the bedside table, and a cigarette rests between his pointer and middle, smoke swirling from the tip of it. Lawrence told him not to smoke in the house, let alone in their room, but it was so damn cold outside, and he was far too exhausted to even get out of bed. Lawrence had yet to return from work, so he was taking an opportunity. It was late, maybe one or two in the morning, he hadn't looked at the time in a while. His head hurt, he felt so damn nauseous, like any wrong movement could cause him to throw up everywhere. He took another drag of his cigarette, exhaling smoke and gagging at the taste. It was always like this. He'd never enjoyed that taste, he's always hated it, but something in him didn't allow him to quit. He felt like he needed it, and maybe he did. Even if his coughing kept him awake at night, even if the headaches were constant, even if he's wasting every last bit of his money on cigarettes, he felt he needed it. The first time he picked up a cigarette was when he was thirteen. It was midday, and he was with some friends. He mostly did it to show off, but a part of him knew it was also because he didn't care wether he lives or dies. He didn't have a care in the world. He raised the cigarette to his lips, taking a drag. He withdrew his hand from his lips, tipping his head back as he exhaled, nearly gagging as it hit his tongue for probably the twentieth time in the past ten minutes.
He watched the smoke swirl up towards the ceiling, sighing. He felt even more nauseous, gagging once, but forcing the nausea down again. He was exhausted, his head was pounding. He gagged again suddenly, witu no time for him to force the vomit back down before he had vomited all over the floor. He looked at the puddle of vomit, and immediately looked away. He couldn't even get himself to clean it, he couldn't even get up. His addiction was eating him alive. It's funny, because he refused drugs, but took a cigarette as if it was a one hundred dollar bill. When he was offered opioids in the hospital after the trap, he refused to take them. He wouldn't. His mom was addicted to opioids for years, so much so she never took care of him, let him live with his grandma, just because she couldn't get her shit together. A part of him was curious, because how good were they if she would abandon him for them, the rest of him was terrified to even try them. He always tried to hide his addiction from everyone, even Lawrence, but it was simply useless. It was like living in a glass house, everyone could see it, even if he covered the glass with curtains, or whatever the hell else, there was always a crack, revealing what was inside. There were always signs, everyone could smell it on him, on his clothes, they could tell by the way his fingers were stained yellow, could tell by the way he coughed constantly. They could all tell, they could see what was happening in his fucking glass house. The only reason he needed for smoking was 'because', it was all he needed. Even if he knew it wasn't helping anything at all. It was only making things worse. Everyday was the same. He'd wake up at on P.M., due to falling asleep at five A.M., and he'd realize the ceiling looked unfamiliar, but the feeling he had was all too familiar. He'd immediately have a cigarette. Maybe two, maybe three, maybe more. It always made him feel sick. He'd hate how this home felt so unfamiliar, he'd wonder where the one who loves here was, and maybe he didn't recognize it, but this was his home, this was where his life lives.
The sudden noise of a door opening snapped him out of his thoughts, the front door, Lawrence was home. He scrambled, pushing the cigarette into the ashtray, putting it out as he shoved the ashtray into the bedside drawer. He prayed Lawrence wouldn't notice the smell, and if he did, he'd be fucked, and not in the good way. He tried to look as normal as he could. Wiping the vomit from his mouth, trying to look as if he wasn't nauseous as hell. Soon enough, Lawrence opened the door to their room, "Ah." He hummed, seeing Adam awake, not even noticing the vomit, somehow. "You're awake. Hey, love." He greeted softly, shutting the door behind him as he sat down on the bed, Adam felt the mattress dip with his weight. Adam, trying to sound casual, spoke. "Hey, Larry." He mumbled. Adam's heart nearly dropped when he heard Lawrence take a breath through his nose, and it fully dropped when he saw Lawrence face contort into a knowing expression. "Adam," He started, clearing his throat. "Have you been smoking in here?" He asked, just the slightest hint of annoyance in his tone. Adam shook his head immediately, "I haven't. Why?" He lied, asking even though he knew exactly why he knew. Lawrence took a bigger breath through his nose, his face turning into one of slight frustration. "It smells like cigarettes." He rubbed his temples, almost dramatically. His eyes shifted to the vomit on the floor. "..And there's vomit on the floor, and I don't believe you're sick." He paused, "Don't lie to me, Adam." He groaned quietly, looking away from the vomit. Adam sighed, "Sorry." He replied simply. He truly was ashamed, he did feel bad, especially because he knew how much Lawrence hated the smell of cigarettes. Lawrence was growing visibly frustrated. "I specifically told you not to smoke in the house, let alone our bedroom." He admonished, he sounded like a father scolding their child for drawing on the walls. Adam groaned. "It's cold outside.. And, I was too exhausted to get up." He mumbled, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. Lawrence had to hold in a scoff at that. "Then don't smoke? I'd say that's a pretty obvious solution, yes?" He snapped. Adam didn't even hold in his own scoff. "Oh, yeah, cause it's that easy. I would quit if i could, Lawrence." He paused, before continuing, "But yeah, I'll just stop right now, not like it's one of the only consistent things in my life right now." He replied sarcastically. Lawrence's face softened ever so slightly, before sighing, "..Let me get changed, and clean that.. vomit. And we can talk about this when I'm done." He spoke, and all Adam could muster was a nod. He watched as Lawrence got out of his work clothes, changing into those stupid pajamas Adam hated, but tolerated for Lawrence. He also watches as Lawrence went to the bathroom to grab a cloth for the vomit, but Adam took the cloth, refusing to let Lawrence clean it, considering hie hard it was for him to get on his knees. Adam cleaned the vomit, and threw the cloth into the trash, jumping back on the bed and sitting right next to Lawrence.
"Adam," Lawrence cleared his throat as he finished slipping his prosthetic off, and Adam looked at him, but avoided direct eye contact. "...Surely you know how I feel about you." Adam slowly nodded, slightly confused as to where this was going. Lawrence nodded back, continuing, "And you must know how much I worry, no?" Adam nodded again, trying to politely encourage him to get to the point. "...I don't wnat to lose you, Adam." Lawrence admitted, before continuing again, "So, when I get frustrated over you smoking, I'm not.. really mad, just extremely worried. It's difficult to watch you do that to yourself." He sighed softly. It took Adam a minute to respond, before speaking, "I know. But, sometimes, it's just so difficult to even go an hour without it, sometimes it's all I can do all day, and sometimes.. it makes me forget about whatever I feel in the moment." He explained quietly, barely above a whisper. The older man nodded at that, placing a hand on Adam's shoulder. "I know, darling. It's okay." He murmured, ever so gently squeezing Adam's shoulder. Adam was honestly exhausted, and he could barely keep his eyes open. His head still hurt, he still felt a little nauseous, so, without thinking, he muttered, "Can we talk about this more tomorrow? I feel like I might fall asleep right here, right now." Lawrence smiled softly, letting out a small chuckle. "Yes, yes, I can tell, sweetheart. Of course.." He replied. Lawrence reached over to switch off the lamp, shutting off the only light source. He laid down, waiting for Adam to join him. To nobody's surprise, as Adam laid down, he immediately clung onto Lawrence, pulling him close. Lawrence softly chuckled, patting his back as he pulled the sheet up over them. After that, he returned the hug, one arm wrapping around Adams midsection, the other cradling his head. They laid like that for a while, until Adam spoke, half asleep, "Larry?" He muttered. "Hm?" Lawrence hummed, continuing to cradle Adam's head, occasionally running his fingers through Adam's hair. "You still love me? Even though I smell like an ashtray?" He asked, barely even awake. Lawrence chuckled, running his hand up and down Adam's back slowly, "Always." He assured, and he could feel Adam smile against his chest. "That's good, 'cause I'd still love you even if you smelt like Satan's unwiped ass." He mumbled, and it took everything in Lawrence to not burst out laughing. "Good to know, Ads. Go to sleep, love." He said as he continued to run his fingers through Adam's hair. "'Kay." Adam muttered, and within minutes he was asleep.
And soon, Lawrence was too.