Work Text:
He hated it. He really hated it, and he knew the smoke would soon make him sick, but that didn’t stop him from taking another drag even though his hands were shaking.
The bitter taste filled his lungs, and he exhaled, watching the cloud of smoke disperse in front of him and drift away on the wind.
“...”
Takato looked at his cigarette, his brow furrowed in disgust and exhaustion. It didn’t matter; it was what he had to do, even if he hated what he was doing and even if he felt as if his heart had been ripped from his chest.
Breaking up with Junta had been his best decision.
It was the logical thing to do, what had to be done; Azumaya was a pristine gem that shouldn’t be tarnished, and Takato was willing to do anything to push that potential to its fullest splendor.
Even if he wasn’t by his side when Junta shone.
He pressed the cigarette against his lips again and took another drag. Even so, he still hated cigarettes. No matter how much he tried them, their taste and consequences still didn’t tempt him in the least.
But in moments as empty and apathetic as this, the black-haired man knew only one recourse.
In any case, Usaka made it seem more effective. He still couldn’t find that comfort that cigarettes were supposed to provide.
Whatever the case, it didn’t matter, because he’d still finish off the little thing.
And if at any moment he found himself missing that young man he’d pushed away, Takato would open the pack again and take out another cigarette.
Perhaps his clouds of smoke would merge with the dark clouds in the sky.