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heathcliff padded down the halls of mephistopheles, the atmosphere dark and eerie. it was well past midnight, but he could sleep. and besides, he had something else he wanted to try.
of the 12 sinners on the bus, there were only 2 who smoked. well, more like chainsmoked. those 2 sinners are gregor and ryoshu. they seemed to breathe more smoke than actual air somedays. heathcliff was half sure he'd get second-hand lung cancer from them.
but all that smoking got him thinking: is it really worth all of that? so the night before, he sneaked into ryoshu's room and nicked a cigarette and a lighter and made off with it. and now, he could finally use it.
looking for a room (to no avail, since every door looked identical and were all locked), he paused when one knob he tried turned all the way. an open door. he pushed it open to find... a broom closet?
... since when did mephistopheles need a broom closet? shaking his head and putting the thought away, he stepped inside and stood among the cleaning supplies and tools. he gently closed the door and was plunged into darkness.
well, not total darkness. the gap under the door gave just enough light to cast a faint, warm glow upon the closet, making everything just barely visible.
he fumbled in his pockets for the cigarette and the lighter. after a few tries, he got a fire ablaze, and holding the white end of the cigarette to the flame, he brought the other end to his mouth and inhaled--
"COUGH- HACK-- A-AGH-" heathcliff wheezed, doubling over and almost dropping the lit lighter (though thankfully his thumb came off the button before it could light anything on fire). he took in a few gasps of air, trying his best to muffle his i-am-dying sounds with his sleeve.
eventually, his breathing came back to semi-normal, and he let out a quiet groan. "christ on a stick, those buggers actually like this rubbish?" he sighed under his breath. no, he'd try again. maybe he just inhaled too fast.
he brought it to his lips, and took a slower inhale, but the moment that smoke hit the back of his throat- another fit of coughing seized him, though this time lesser in quantity.
he gripped his throat slightly, the skin inside raw from coughing. or atleast, it felt bloody raw. ok, he sighed. one last try. then he'd be done if he couldn't do it.
he took in a smaller mouthful of smoke this time. and inhaling it... he did it with just a small cough at the end. it still tasted like shite. he frowned.
he was about to throw the cigarette on the ground and stop it out before he realized... he didn't feel so overwhelmed by just existing anymore. his mind felt... quieter. he looked sat the cigarette, barely visible in the dim warm light of mephistopheles behind the door.
tentatively, he brought it to his lips and inhaled. he sighed, smoke curling around his face. it whispered to him. "... huh." he hummed to himself, quirking an eyebrow. well, apart from the taste, it wasn't too bad.
he took another drag, more smoke rising in mesmerizing shapes. it almost felt like a breeze blowing through his hair. this was all feeling oddly familiar... but maybe that was the nicotine.
once more, he inhaled. he exhaled. closing his eyes, he thought he could smell something underneath the smoke. not too faint that he couldn't make it out, but... logically, he shouldn't be able to smell it
the moors? he was smelling the moors? how was he smelling the moors in the middle of mephistopheles? he brushed the thought away, his brows furrowing.
but as he brought the cigarette to his lips, he froze. the taste of the smoke, the nicotine... god knows how, but all of it conjured an image in his head. a feeling on his skin.
he could imagine it so clearly it was as if she was infront of him. the smoke... it tasted like her. her lips. how he imagined her lips to taste like.
he gripped the cigarette betwene his fingers tighter, almost to the point of ripping it. he almost bit down on it. opening his eyes, he looked around almost desperately. despite the possibility of her being there being astoundingly low... he had to try.
and yet, disappointment struck once more. he scoffed, glaring at nothing, and brought the cigarette to his lips. another drag.
but his eyes widened when he felt -- god, he swore he felt -- hands on his cheek as the smoke curled around his face, her hands, and-
he threw the cigarette on the ground and stomped on it till it was nothing but an unintelligible grey and black mess on the ground. he was panting slightly afterwards, and he quickly pushed the door open, hurrying back to his room.
"never again. never fuckin again." he muttered to himself under his breath, the smoke still lingering on his clothes. smoke, and something else lingering in his heart, too.