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He'd tossed common sense out the window. He'd gone behind his friend's backs, naught for the first time and never the last. He'd risked being shanked or mugged or forbid, worse.
All for the drag of a cigarette.
But Ryan was content with admitting he was but a fool, at least, to himself. Chalking up the string of choices that led him here to doltishness alone was easier than it should be, but Ryan was reckless. Ryan was imprudent. Ryan acted on desire, on impulse, because why not conform to the narrative everyone around you already set you to? If anyone enquired, “Why?", Ryan would shrug before justifications caramelized on his tongue and spilt forth like molten sugar.
But Axle knew better. He peered beyond the horizon and saw Ryan for who he truly was; lesser than the sum of his parts. He had no grounds but all the reason to beleaguer, but what made the rabbit stand out in a crowd of nobodies, to Axle alone, was that he did not cower. He did not flee. He stood his ground, and screamed.
Axle remembers spittle flying from the rusty daggers that grazed his cheek. He remembers tears, he remembers trembling shoulders and barred teeth and he remembers watching Ryan flee from conflict for the first time. He'd stood, posture lax and expression indifferent, but gaze trained, as Ryan staggered towards the dorm buildings, his gaggle of misfits at his heels. He doesn't remember what Stitch was trying to garner his attention for, or what Trevor was spouting as he pathetically tore into Axle, but he distinctly remembers every word that left Ryan's lips.
Said words shouldn't mean jack shit to him. He's toyed with sensitive nerves before and delighted in the reactions he gleaned. He had his grip tight around that core he'd unearthed, still beating inside a chest that had been gouged clean, and for some fucking reason he'd neglected to rip from what sustained it and grind it to a bloody pulp beneath his heel. Something subconscious told him if he went through with it, he'd merely be stomping on ashes.
Far from a truce, scarcely an apology, and yet Ryan sought him out many a day later. Call it morbid curiosity, call it a death wish, but despite himself, Axle had entertained him.
Because he knew Ryan wasn't fiending for the pack of cigarettes in his pocket, despite how they preferred to pretend he was. And that's how they ended up here, perched uptop some old geezer's grave, blazing through a sleeve of smokes and seeing how far they could flick the stubs from where they sat. Currently, Ryan held that record with more pride that he reasonably should.
Words weren't exchanged all that much when they met up here. The graveyard swallowed up any meaningless banter that would inevitability occur between them. They had school, if Axle felt like sauntering on campus grounds, for that, but never here. For once, Ryan relished in silence, attaining a modicum of understanding for why Axle harbored such deep rooted reverence for this place. It should irk him, how the bunny flourished amongst the rotting, but after all, the dead do not mutter.
𝒯𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒾𝓈 𝓂𝓎 𝒽𝑜𝓂𝑒, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝐼 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝒸𝒾𝑜𝓊𝓈𝓁𝓎 𝒶𝓁𝓁𝑜𝓌 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓉𝑜 𝑒𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓇.
It felt transactional the first time around, stilted; Ryan had come crawling to the Grave Walker, ribcage unlatched and fur sopping. The odor of nicotine had slapped him square in the face, even whilst masked by the scent of rain, and yet he was not deterred, plopping his rump right next to Axle beneath a tree that could barely be considered a suitable awning. Axle had smelt like wet dog and peat. Ryan had wordlessly requested a cigarette, and the latter had sniggered when Ryan acted flummoxed when actually presented with a blunt, and he'd tittered harder as Ryan nearly singed his eyebrow clean off whilst fumbling with the lighter.
Naught a word was spoken, yet something was established. Something, because neither of them could, or truly wanted to, pinpoint what their 'relationship’ was in truth.
Not that it mattered, at least to Ryan, the liar he was. He'd gotten one taste of smokey saliva and already knew he was hooked, line and sinker. He had yellowed teeth ravage the column of his neck until every individual divot bled, and nowadays it was rare for him not to be at least a little sore. He didn't have the heart to break it to Kendrick that he should probably sterilize his bedsheets.
A fling with his rival? Child's play. But when it came to their discussions, they treaded equally on parlous, uncharted territory.
Ryan was an open book to Axle, barring the..outburst and whatnot, so opening up felt noncompulsory; He'd just dish out more blackmail for the Grave Walkers to utilize, like they didn't have enough already. And yet, he felt compelled each time around to loosen the hinges just a little more and allow Axle just a bit more access, nothing major.
Maybe if he left his chest yawning, Axle would bestow him the key to his own in turn.
It would make up for all those times Axle had delved deep within him, lighter in hand, and charred his heart to cinders.
𝐹𝓊𝓃𝓃𝓎. 𝒩𝑜𝓌𝒶𝒹𝒶𝓎𝓈, 𝑅𝓎𝒶𝓃’𝓈 𝒾𝓉𝒸𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝑜 𝒷𝑒 𝒻𝒾𝓁𝓁𝑒𝒹 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓈𝓂𝑜𝓀𝑒 𝓊𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓁 𝒽𝑒 𝓇𝒶𝓃 𝒽𝑜𝓁𝓁𝑜𝓌..
“Aw, damn,” Ryan cursed underneath his breath. His cigarette went stale halfway through, and although the rabbit should considered it a sign from above to cut off, it was an unspoken rule that if they met up, they’d smoke. The nicotine dulled their, or at least Ryan’s, inhibitions, lessening the hesitance to divulge.
But Ryan would vehemently deny he was addicted, even if everyone around him saw how the flames licked at his veins and charred his arteries.
“Pass me the lighter?” He requested with an outstretched hand. There would be no reason for Axle to deny his request, so he neglected to check and catch the Grave Walker inching towards him. When he finally thought to look up, he was met with a plume of smoke and a face dotted with stubble.
He did not yelp, for your information, but he did visibly jolt and nearly toppled off the edge of the tombstone. Axle’s gravelly laugh reached his ears and it all but made up for it, however.
Ryan rolled his eyes, albeit fondly, and took it upon himself to retrieve a cigarette himself, abandoning his quest for the lighter. He didn’t get far, fingers ghosting the edge of the carton before Axle took hold of his chin and wrenched his head to be level with his own.
Oddly enough, that shocked him less, but his cheeks went ruddy beneath his fur nevertheless, a stark contrast of pink against gray.
The discarded blunt was inserted between parted lips, and promptly relit with the very stick that hung from Axle’s own. Smog billowed, and when the curtain dissipated Axle drank in Ryan’s gobsmacked expression and twitchy nose.
Even now, he teased, if only to mask the intimacy that lie underfoot.
“You could’ve just given me the lighter, Ax-“
Ryan’s grumbling was promptly silenced, with Axle blowing rank fumes directly in his face. The rabbit in question gave cry of indignation that swiftly devolved into ceaseless hacking. Only when he was finally able to take in a full breath without sputtering, his glare’s intended effect dampened by red-rimmed eyes, did the Grave Walker speak.
“You wanna keep this a running gig, don’t ’ya?”
Ryan’s ear twitched, and he cocked his head. They'd started this, these meetups, at the very least a month or two ago, hadn't they? Why ask now? Ryan wouldn't put it past Axle to cut him off like a tumor so soon, but even so..
If that was his goal in truth, he wouldn't have asked forthright.
Ryan nodded fervently, and shockingly Axle didn't take the low-hanging fruit of making a jibe at the rabbit's poorly concealed enthusiasm. He merely took a drag, held in the smoke, and released it as he spoke. A musky storm cloud enveloped them both, but this time around, Ryan didn't cough. The smoke infiltrated into every pore and stuck to his fur. It lingered on the fabric of his hoodie and stung his corneas, but he found himself drawing it all in.
He did naught but taste Axle. He breathed Axle, because what was he but a drug to intended to fog?
"Then-"
𝒲𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒸𝓇𝓎 𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓋𝑒𝓃𝓈, 𝐼 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓂 𝓉𝑜 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓃𝒶𝓂𝑒 𝑒𝓉𝒸𝒽𝑒𝒹 𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑜 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓃𝑒𝒸𝓀.
"Call me Dante."