(Untitled)

[wildcurt]

A cigarette is the perfect type of a perfect pleasure. It is exquisite, and it leaves one unsatisfied. What more can one want

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[serkingslayer]

Jaime watched the man and the smoke briefly before sitting down next to him. "Hello, Curt," he said quietly, eyeing the water curiously.

[wildcurt]

He hadn't even realized that he'd gotten company.

Hearing Jaime's quiet voice, Curt tipped his chin down, eyes focusing on the top of Jaime's blond head. It had been a few days since their last encounter. Curt hadn't known until this moment how much he'd been longing to see Jaime again.

"Hey," he said, lowering the cigarette from his lips.

[serkingslayer]

Jaime looked up and smiled. He had thought of Curt often and was glad to have found him again. "How have you been?"

[wildcurt]

"Alive," he said with a shrug and a smirk. A beat, and then another hit. Inhale. The heady smoke rolls and rumbles and tumbles down down down his throat, into his lungs. A heartbeat. Two. Then they expand and fill, and Curt can feel the nicotine seep into his blood. Exhale. Soft sigh.

"Pretty fucking good. You?"