Inhale, Exhale
Title: Inhale, Exhale
Author: Viv
Genre: angst, fluff
Rating: PG
Fandom: Matchbook Romance [music - band]
Pairing: Judas/Andy
Disclaimer: I know they’re somewhere in my closet, I know they are! I swear I didn’t lose them!
Summary: “Why the hell do you smoke so much?” [standalone]
Inhale.
Exhale.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Your body relaxes against the concrete, the small of your back pressed against a wall of brick, and you slightly slouch over, your hands dangling from over your knees, a cigarette in between your fingers.
Inhale
Exhale.
“You know, you’ll die one day from smoking.”
“I’ll die one day, period.”
“True. But you’ll only die sooner… and even sooner from smoking as much as you do.”
“Yeah, well maybe I don’t care.”
A small chuckle answers your retort and you stare at the ground as the familiar shadow over you moves and a second later, a body sits down beside you, head resting back against the wall and nose upturned, brown eyes gazing up at the sky.
Inhale.
Exhale.
“What are you doing out here?”
“Needed some air.”
“And you’re smoking?”
“Alright, so I needed a fucking smoke.”
Another chuckle and this time you turn your head slightly to your left, watching him from the corners of your eyes as he shakes his head fondly at you and smirks. Why couldn’t you ever think of anything smart to say whenever he was around?
Damn good thing you weren’t the lyricist in this band.
Inhale.
Exhale.
“Hey Judas?”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Okay.”
Inhale.
“Judas?”
Exhale.
“Yeah?”
“Why the hell do you smoke so much?”
The cigarette is already between your parted lips, but instead of inhaling, you pluck it back out of your mouth and reach up on your head with your free hand to readjust your cap, tugging on the visor a few times as if it didn’t fit quite right.
The true is that you are trying to find a good answer to that question. You don’t want to let him know that you actually care or had even ever given it a thought before.
When you still can’t think of reasons to give him, you start readjusting your thick-framed glasses instead, pushing them back up the bridge of your nose. Your eyes remain hidden by the black visor of your hat as you try to keep an uncaring exterior.
“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”
“No, it’s not that, it’s just…” You hesitate for a moment and then you finally answer, defeated, “There’s so many fucking reasons, but none of them is coming to my mind right now.”
“Music isn’t enough for you?”
You glance at him quickly before turning your attention back on the ground beneath you, glaring at the dark grey concrete as your cigarette keeps burning away.
Inhale.
Exhale.
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“You’re addicted.”
“I’m not.”
“If I told you to stop right now, would you? Could you?”
Your eyes stare at the offending item between your fingers and you don’t answer, almost ashamed that he knew you so well. You have no idea if you would be able to stop. You don’t know if you could go by a day without this stupid nicotine or a week without any of those other drugs that you’ve been regularly taken with some tourmates.
You hate feeling so weak over such a small thing.
“I know it’s not easy. You know how long it took me to stop eating those godamned gummy bears? Long enough for me to gain a pound from eating those things alone!”
That statement is so unexpected that you find yourself laughing your first real laugh in weeks and you hunch down further, your shoulders slightly shaking as you try to control yourself.
Your laughter quickly subsides and you’re back at staring at the ground, your body leaning back against the brick wall and your stoic expression returning.
Inhale.
Exhale.
“Hey Judas?”
Inhale.
“Have you ever tried quitting?”
Exhale.
“Yeah.” You answer quietly.
Inhale.
“But -”
Exhale.
“- it never worked. I gave up a while ago.”
A warm hand rest on your shoulder and lightly squeezes it, urging you to look. You turn your head and find yourself staring into deep hazelnut eyes, gentle and caring, and the expressionless on your face slips away to give place to confusion.
“I can help you, you know.”
You can only blink at him, trying to understand what he is doing when his other hand reaches over to push the visor of your cap up slightly, when guitar-calloused fingers carefully takes your glasses off.
You're still trying to understand when it register in your mind that your faces are suddenly awfully close, that your breaths mingle and that your can’t tear your gaze away from his full lips, that knowing what they taste like was all that was on your mind. Your breath is caught in your dry throat.
And then - then his lips are on yours, gentle, chaste and your eyes slip close, the cigarette slipping from in between your fingers, completely forgotten.
A moment later and he slowly pulls away. His fingers interlace with yours and your eyes flutter open and you see him smiling softly at you, a smile that momentarily freezes time around you.
“Judas?”
You snap out of your trance and blink at him, waiting for him to continue.
He laughs lightly.
“I know you’re stunned but… Breathe. Exhale.”
You let out the breath you don’t remember holding.
And then you realize that you much prefer Andy’s breath ghosting on your lips over the smoke of cigarette, Andy’s taste over the bitterness of nicotine any day.
Inhale his warmth.
Exhale your worries.
---
March 22, 2005.
Author: Viv
Genre: angst, fluff
Rating: PG
Fandom: Matchbook Romance [music - band]
Pairing: Judas/Andy
Disclaimer: I know they’re somewhere in my closet, I know they are! I swear I didn’t lose them!
Summary: “Why the hell do you smoke so much?” [standalone]
Inhale.
Exhale.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Your body relaxes against the concrete, the small of your back pressed against a wall of brick, and you slightly slouch over, your hands dangling from over your knees, a cigarette in between your fingers.
Inhale
Exhale.
“You know, you’ll die one day from smoking.”
“I’ll die one day, period.”
“True. But you’ll only die sooner… and even sooner from smoking as much as you do.”
“Yeah, well maybe I don’t care.”
A small chuckle answers your retort and you stare at the ground as the familiar shadow over you moves and a second later, a body sits down beside you, head resting back against the wall and nose upturned, brown eyes gazing up at the sky.
Inhale.
Exhale.
“What are you doing out here?”
“Needed some air.”
“And you’re smoking?”
“Alright, so I needed a fucking smoke.”
Another chuckle and this time you turn your head slightly to your left, watching him from the corners of your eyes as he shakes his head fondly at you and smirks. Why couldn’t you ever think of anything smart to say whenever he was around?
Damn good thing you weren’t the lyricist in this band.
Inhale.
Exhale.
“Hey Judas?”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Okay.”
Inhale.
“Judas?”
Exhale.
“Yeah?”
“Why the hell do you smoke so much?”
The cigarette is already between your parted lips, but instead of inhaling, you pluck it back out of your mouth and reach up on your head with your free hand to readjust your cap, tugging on the visor a few times as if it didn’t fit quite right.
The true is that you are trying to find a good answer to that question. You don’t want to let him know that you actually care or had even ever given it a thought before.
When you still can’t think of reasons to give him, you start readjusting your thick-framed glasses instead, pushing them back up the bridge of your nose. Your eyes remain hidden by the black visor of your hat as you try to keep an uncaring exterior.
“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”
“No, it’s not that, it’s just…” You hesitate for a moment and then you finally answer, defeated, “There’s so many fucking reasons, but none of them is coming to my mind right now.”
“Music isn’t enough for you?”
You glance at him quickly before turning your attention back on the ground beneath you, glaring at the dark grey concrete as your cigarette keeps burning away.
Inhale.
Exhale.
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“You’re addicted.”
“I’m not.”
“If I told you to stop right now, would you? Could you?”
Your eyes stare at the offending item between your fingers and you don’t answer, almost ashamed that he knew you so well. You have no idea if you would be able to stop. You don’t know if you could go by a day without this stupid nicotine or a week without any of those other drugs that you’ve been regularly taken with some tourmates.
You hate feeling so weak over such a small thing.
“I know it’s not easy. You know how long it took me to stop eating those godamned gummy bears? Long enough for me to gain a pound from eating those things alone!”
That statement is so unexpected that you find yourself laughing your first real laugh in weeks and you hunch down further, your shoulders slightly shaking as you try to control yourself.
Your laughter quickly subsides and you’re back at staring at the ground, your body leaning back against the brick wall and your stoic expression returning.
Inhale.
Exhale.
“Hey Judas?”
Inhale.
“Have you ever tried quitting?”
Exhale.
“Yeah.” You answer quietly.
Inhale.
“But -”
Exhale.
“- it never worked. I gave up a while ago.”
A warm hand rest on your shoulder and lightly squeezes it, urging you to look. You turn your head and find yourself staring into deep hazelnut eyes, gentle and caring, and the expressionless on your face slips away to give place to confusion.
“I can help you, you know.”
You can only blink at him, trying to understand what he is doing when his other hand reaches over to push the visor of your cap up slightly, when guitar-calloused fingers carefully takes your glasses off.
You're still trying to understand when it register in your mind that your faces are suddenly awfully close, that your breaths mingle and that your can’t tear your gaze away from his full lips, that knowing what they taste like was all that was on your mind. Your breath is caught in your dry throat.
And then - then his lips are on yours, gentle, chaste and your eyes slip close, the cigarette slipping from in between your fingers, completely forgotten.
A moment later and he slowly pulls away. His fingers interlace with yours and your eyes flutter open and you see him smiling softly at you, a smile that momentarily freezes time around you.
“Judas?”
You snap out of your trance and blink at him, waiting for him to continue.
He laughs lightly.
“I know you’re stunned but… Breathe. Exhale.”
You let out the breath you don’t remember holding.
And then you realize that you much prefer Andy’s breath ghosting on your lips over the smoke of cigarette, Andy’s taste over the bitterness of nicotine any day.
Inhale his warmth.
Exhale your worries.
---
March 22, 2005.