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He couldn’t sleep.
It’s been hours and he still couldn’t sleep.
He didn’t feel particularly stressed at the moment, and he was pretty sure he didn’t have a task to do. Running his brain, Izuku goes through his mental checklist.
Brush my teeth? Check.
Grade my papers? Check.
Feed the cat? Check.
Izuku had conceded. Rising out of his bed, he shuffles his way to the dresser. He digs through his sock drawer, sighing with relief when he sees his half-empty box of cigarettes.
Just one. He thought. To decompress.
He puts on an old hoodie sitting on the ground. Its uneven strings tied into knots that Izuku has never been able to untie.
Izuku clumsily grabs the lighter sitting on his dresser in the dark, then opens the sliding door to the small balcony attached to the apartment.
A deep breath in. The air is icy and sharp, stinging his throat with each inhale. He couldn’t say he loved the feeling. However, one thing was true: this is the best weather for a smoke.
The end of the cigarette sat in his mouth as he flickered his lighter on a few times.
flit flit flit flit
fwoosh
Izuku stares at the flame, then releases the spark wheel. He remembered something Katsuki told him what must’ve been years ago.
He had just turned 18. His desperation for freedom from his own mind led him to purchase his first box of cigarettes. He wasn’t sure what brand he got, but it wasn’t as good as what he smokes now. Izuku hated the taste at first but he pretended he didn’t so as not to appear immature, cowardly. He had managed to keep it secret for a little while, only smoking once every couple of days or so. It couldn’t last forever, though. One day Kirishima asked the group if they also smelled cigarettes in the air. Izuku denied it, but knew where it came from. It wasn’t until Katsuki caught him behind his apartment building that it fell apart.
Izuku will never forget the way his face dropped, that look of disappointment from him. He wasn’t mad, he was worried. The guilt he felt at the sight of his face still haunts him. Not enough to quit, though.
“Izu. You need to let them go,” He said. “Those little fuckers’ll ruin your life,”
I know. He thought it then. He thought it now, too.
I know. That's why I like them.
Finally, he lights the cigarette. The end illuminated brightly, bathing his face in an orange light for just one second. He takes a slow drag, savoring the bitter flavor he had now grown to love.
Izuku exhaled and watched the smoke billow and dance in the wind before dissipating into nothingness. That was his favorite part, watching what it does and where it goes.
Izuku wishes he could go with it.
He brings the cigarette up to his mouth again and closes his eyes for his second puff. The smoke spins and curls outside of his lips.
He gets so attached to the smoke. It's so beautiful. It feels like it’s there for him, like an old friend. Once it evaporated, Izuku looked down at the city streets below him. Sounds of squeaking brakes and honking horns begin to fade as the nicotine numbs his senses just a touch.
This balcony’s pretty high, Izuku begins to think. But is it high enough?
Or I could just wait for these things to kill me.
He puffs.
But when’s that gonna be?
He briefly considers reaching out to his friends again. It's been months since he last saw them. How many months? He hadn’t counted.
But what would I say?
Maybe he could give them an explanation.
“Sorry I haven’t talked to you guys in a while, it’s getting worse and i don’t think i can take it anymore”
“I've been busy.”
He doesn't like that one. Honestly speaking, telling them would be a bad idea. Yeah, Izuku hadn’t reached out but neither had they. They probably don’t even like him. Can he even call them friends? Would they even miss him?
but there was a part of him that wanted them to know anyway. maybe then they would’ve wished they reached out.
Before he knew it, the cigarette had worn down to the butt. He snuffs it out on the peanut butter lid and reaches for another. It’s all muscle memory.
flit flit flit flit
fwoosh
The second one is even better than the first, filling his head with the comfortable fuzziness he needs to unwind properly. Izuku taps the side of his cig, watching the ash drop like polluted snow.
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder Izuku thinks. They call it a disgusting habit, all of them. But it’s beautiful to him. It’s quiet, intimate, and secret. This is the only time in his life he’s ever had the privilege of any of those things.
It seems that quicker than before, the cigarette had run out of smokes to take. He flicks it onto the graveyard of its comrades and leans back in his chair, trying to find the motivation to stand up. He wants another one. Of course he does, but his budgets say he can’t buy another pack until payday next week, and he only has two left.
Dammit.
With a sigh, Izuku stands. His knees creak with the motion. He opens the sliding door back to his room, carefully removing his hoodie, and hanging it back up. He hides his cigarettes again.
He shuts the door. He looks at the ground, his eyes squinting at the floor as he intensely uses the little bit of brain power he had at this time of night.
I don’t have a cat.