Work Text:
Rich warm yellow light cascades down on the pavement, drowning out the indistinct talk of the vigilant chatterbox crowd scattered sparsely across the its surface. The streets already smell faintly of chemical smoke, but the little paper slips evident from any fireworks going off aren’t present; suggesting maybe the only thing that has been lit were sparklers or smaller explosives…
The warm light was barely enough to guide Jim’s hand to his pocket, fingers finding their way to the seam and fishing around for a few seconds before finding his item of choice; a lighter.
Pulling the lighter up to his face, gently nudging Corey’s shoulder, he aims to light Corey’s cigarette, then his.
Corey’s cigarette is hanging angled in his lip, he’s looking down; fidgeting with something again. Jim realizes it’s the loose string on his jeans again. Corey’s had the jeans forever; it’s no surprise that they’re wearing down. Jim lights Corey’s cigarette without drawing it to his attention. When the flame flickers on so close to his face his bright blue eyes widen and look up at Jim, but his head and lips both don’t move. He looks at him with fleeting caution.
Jim lights his cigarette after pulling the lighter away from Corey, who’s already blowing out smoke. Corey clears his throat. When the cigarette is away from his face, he mutters ‘thank you,’ and his eyes come back up to look at Jim while he inhales.
Jim’s inherently puffy eyes squint a little bit, and his hand cups the flame that quickly flickers out after he finishes lighting the end of the paper. He inhales and drags the cigarette away from his face, head drooping down to stare at the asphalt and then at Corey.
“Are you ready to see the fireworks?” Jim mutters, and then nudges Corey—suddenly he’s looking at him.
Corey can’t help but smile to play off the awkwardness. “Y-Yeah, I am. Hope they don’t… Don’t suck as much as last years...” He tries to find the right words but of course they come out low, breathy, and unsure.
Jim looks at him, his eyes blatantly scanning Corey’s hunched over figure. “Keep your hopes up.” He flicks Corey in the shoulder and smiles with no teeth.
Corey looks back at Jim. Then up at the sky. He takes a deep drag of the cigarette. Nicotine really is his drug of choice.
His knee bumps into Jim’s, his hand finds its way to his pocket, and he slumps quietly on the larger man’s shoulder.
It’s already so beautiful out here. And the fireworks haven’t even started.