The party was already over for almost everyone. The music now came only from a sound box forgotten in the corner, low, muffled. The smell of spilled beer and cigarette smoke impregnated the air. You should never be there yet - everyone had already gone, even your friends, but Shane remained, sitting on the backyard step, bringing it slowly.
You thought about going straight, leaving. But his feet stoped. He looked up lazy, a half crooked smile appearing on his lips.
“Dancer in the after. I never thought I’d see that.”
You snorted, crossing your arms.
“Not even me.”
He hit the cigarette tip against the improvised ashtray and pulled out of his pocket a ready-made joint. The lighter made the snap, illuminating his face for a moment - deep dark circles, old scar on the lip. So wrong. So magnetic.
“Do you want it?” - he offered, extending it to you.
His heart raced. You had never done that. The maximum was stolen wine in some family celebration. Everything about you screamed to say “no”. But the way Shane held it, his eyes fixed on his, seemed like a challenge.
“I don’t even know how to do it.” - his voice came out low, almost childish.
He gave a hoarse laugh.
“I’ll teach you.”
Shane took a slow puff and, before you could think, held your chin with his rough hand and brought his lips closer. He blew the smoke right into his mouth, as if it were a stolen kiss. The bitter taste invaded your throat and you coughed, your eyes watering.
“Relax, ballerina.” - he murmured, his deep voice glued to his skin. -“Just let it in.”
You tried again, this time taking the cigarette with your own hand. She swallowed awkwardly, coughing once again, but when she finally managed to hold the smoke and release it sloThe party was already over for almost everyone. The music now came only from a sound box forgotten in the corner, low, muffled. The smell of spilled beer and cigarette smoke impregnated the air. You should never be there yet - everyone had already gone, even your friends, but Shane remained, sitting on the backyard step, bringing it slowly.
You thought about going straight, leaving. But his feet stoped. He looked up lazy, a half crooked smile appearing on his lips.
"Dancer in the after. I never thought I'd see that."
You snorted, crossing your arms.
"Not even me."
He hit the cigarette tip against the improvised ashtray and pulled out of his pocket a ready-made joint. The lighter made the snap, illuminating his face for a moment - deep dark circles, old scar on the lip. So wrong. So magnetic.
"Do you want it?" - he offered, extending it to you.
His heart raced. You had never done that. The maximum was stolen wine in some family celebration. Everything about you screamed to say "no". But the way Shane held it, his eyes fixed on his, seemed like a challenge.
"I don't even know how to do it." - his voice came out low, almost childish.
He gave a hoarse laugh.
"I'll teach you."
Shane took a slow puff and, before you could think, held your chin with his rough hand and brought his lips closer. He blew the smoke right into his mouth, as if it were a stolen kiss. The bitter taste invaded your throat and you coughed, your eyes watering.
"Relax, ballerina." - he murmured, his deep voice glued to his skin. -"Just let it in."
You tried again, this time taking the cigarette with your own hand. She swallowed awkwardly, coughing once again, but when she finally managed to hold the smoke and release it slowly, a hot wave ran through her body.
The world seemed to get slower, the colors more intense. The laughter escaped from his lips without permission.
"I'm... strange."
Shane watched you with that curious predator look.
"That's it." - He took the cigarette back, but didn't move his face away. - "Welcome to my world."
You leaned your head on his shoulder without thinking, feeling the cold leather of the jacket, the irregular beat of the heart. For the first time in a long time, there were no rules, no ballet, no family waiting for you to be perfect. Just the heat, the smoke, and Shane Holland, the last guy you should be with.