| 4 | Pretty Boys With Dying Lungs

***

I sighed as I found myself lost in my own wanderings in the state that I would temporary call an artificial "home." The atmosphere didn't feel welcoming at all, it wasn't compared to my original home state—Wisconsin.

I've always kept my addiction with cigarettes to myself, but lately it's been slipping. I started smoking when I was around twelve or eleven—I was a stupid kid back then. I hung out with the seventeen year olds who I thought were "cool." They've always hooked me up with free cigarettes. They didn't mind the fact that they were setting up a twelve or eleven year old with a lifetime of pain and misery, but I didn't blame them. It was their escape from their shitty lives, and they helped me escape from mine. I felt like they were the only ones who understood me, besides Isaac after all. Our interactions were short, I usually got multiple ten packs of cigarettes from them. I managed to snag three ten-packs of cigarettes from them before I moved to New York State.

I remember that awkward airplane ride that took place a few hours ago. I was squished in the middle between the two people that I despised. My mother sat on my right and my father sat on my left, peacefully sleeping. I could tell my mother had a lot on her mind, her eyebrows were furrowed and there were wrinkles on her forehead. It was quiet in the airplane, only the sound of the airplane's engine filled the dull silence. I had a book on my lap and the urge to smoke written in my expression. Mother had only found out I had a smoking addiction on Thursday, just two days ago. I didn't think she would care, but I could obviously tell she did.

"Seto," she said, voice cracking a bit, "why do you smoke?"

I looked up from my book, a bland, tasteless expression on my face. No point of hiding from it now. I pretended to play dumb anyway, although I did know my mother was too smart for my silly games. I cocked my head to the side, "What?"

"You know what I'm talking about," she murmured, gazing straight into my eyes. They were glossy, almost to the brim with transparent tears, "how long had you smoked?"

I was stupid enough to reply with the truth, "Almost six years."

I went back to being engrossed in my book, flipping through the pages and feeling the paper slash against my fingers. If reading was a type of high, then I was addicted. It would have been a safer alternative than smoking, but the more I smoked the less problems I had. Or, at least I felt like it gave me less problems. It made my mind more clear, even peaceful and less "war filled" perhaps. Besides, it wouldn't hurt to die earlier than most people my age, I've lost my will to live ever since I've signed my own death contract by smoking that first cigarette.

"Please Seto, tell me why you smoke." Mother's voice sounded so desperate. I rolled my eyes, biting on my lip.

"You've always wanted me to be productive, so that's how I'm fucking productive, got it?" I snapped, harshly. I cursed under my breath and went back to reading.

"I'm sorry that I couldn't be the best mother to you, I'm so sorry," she murmured, as quiet as a mouse. I didn't feel guilty, or at least at the time I didn't. I could hear her small, incoherent pitiful sobs that were drowned out by the airplane's buzzing engine.

My train of thoughts had stopped as I entered the forest. It was large, dark, and filled with mysteries that were waiting to be revealed. The time was around 1:00AM, a Saturday morning that was cold and disgusting. I reached into my jean pocket and took out the cigarette packet, then grabbed a cigarette for myself. With the cheap, purple bic lighter I owned, I lit the flame and ignited the cigarette. The feeling of it being in between my two fingers brought nostalgia flooding through my mind. I put the cigarette in my mouth.

Isaac didn't really mind me smoking, I told him that I would quit my addiction when I turned eighteen. So far, I've lied to him. I don't think he really noticed it, though, I rarely smoked when Isaac was around. I thought of him as my over protective brother, but now he was gone. There were no boundaries setting what I could do to myself and where I would go, I could just venture off by myself for the rest of my days. I grinned at the thought of a runaway instead of getting married to a prissy bitch in pink high heels.

As I exhaled out the smoke and toyed with the cigarette in my two scrawny fingers, I felt better. The forest was completely dark, the only light was from my cigarette, the thing that was giving me euphoria. It was twisted, sick, but I couldn't just vent out my anger to anyone. Isaac was gone, the only person who listened to me. He was gone just because my fucking parents wanted to extend their already rich business without thinking if their already mentally fucked son.

I groaned out in anger and punched a nearby tree. I felt my knuckles scratched, blood trickling down my fingers and on to the forest floor. The cigarette that was between my scrawny fingers fell on the ground. I stomped on it, stopping the flame and leaving me alone, dark. I didn't feel like smoking another, I had already fucked up anyway. I squatted on the ground, hugging my knees and burying my face into them. I was so fucking tired of everything, so tired of my parents and so tired of these shitty emotions. I'm physically and mentally exhausted, to the point where I just wanted to shrivel up and disappear.

What have I become?

I could barely remember when everything was carefree. I always seemed happy, I always thought I was fucking the slightest of being "okay." I'm Seto fucking Source, the child that was such a spoiled brat but couldn't accept that. I gave an exasperated sigh before looking up from my knees.

I remember when I was younger, the brief eleven years of my life that was bliss and filled with innocence. I thought my parents cared, they always acted like they did. As I grew older, as the responsibilities piled up, and as I sought out to find the truth; that innocence shattered into pieces. Stress—so much fucking stress built up. I wanted to explode, the thought of being carefree and bliss was so sickening that my stomach churned.

"You're just overreacting."

"Everyone has to grow up."

"You're not some toy to be played with."

"You aren't a mistake."

"Your parents care."

I covered my ears and harshly swung my head back into the tree. I couldn't be fucking normal, I'll always be this sack of shit that was constantly, constantly, an unwanted disappointment. I felt my consciousness slipping, the already dark world fading back to that disgusting shade of black.

It was welcoming.

***

I found myself being woken up by a soft shake on my shoulder. My eyes fluttered open, the light entering them. I hissed, covering them up and trying to recall what happened last night. Part of me hoped that I was in some kind of purgatory, or maybe in hell, but I was alive (much to my own disappointment.) My head had hurt massively, and my knuckles on my right hand felt numb.

"Are you alright?" A voice said.

"Does it fucking look like it?" I snapped, mindlessly. I put down my hands to be met with a boy with the softest of blue eyes I've ever seen.

"It was a dumb question, I know, I'm just trying to be polite," he gave a light-hearted laugh as he turned to the side, "I found you here laying passed out, looks like you had a rough night."

I nodded, the sudden rush of emotions returning back to me. The boy with blue eyes stood up, stretching as he gazed around. He reached his hand out, probably to help me up. With my left hand, I grabbed it and stood up. The boy smiled, "It's good that you aren't so injured, I'll take you back to my house to patch up your knuckles."

"Thanks," I replied, nodding my head. I felt too nervous to ask what his name was.

As we both began to stroll through the forest, I couldn't help but notice how peaceful it was. Though being devoid of other humans, the crickets played their quiet song and the birds chirped happily. It was almost as if they were mocking my actions from the previous night, their judgmental eyes just looking down upon me—both literally and figuratively.

I looked like a slob as I gazed down at my shirt and pants as I was walking. My shirt, pastel purple with a cross on it, was stained with blood and tears, along with some dirt and grass. My favorite pair of blue, ripped skinny jeans were doused with splotches of blood. Some of the jean pant had ashes and cigarette burns on it, too. Great first impression, Seto.

As we both headed out the forest, I couldn't help to notice how suburban it was. The atmosphere was as quiet as the forest was, with only a couple cars passing by the road here and there. Blue Eyes began to lightly hum to himself, setting the atmosphere to a lighter mood. I couldn't help but feel so relaxed—I was tempted to grab another cigarette out of my pocket.

My cigarettes.

My lighter.

I reached into my jean pocket and felt my heart sink down into my stomach and onto the ground. My cigarettes and my purple lighter was gone, I must have dropped them within last night's commotion. Great, now I wasted a perfectly good pack because of my emotional trauma—great going me. I bit my lip and shook my head.

After a couple minutes of walking, we eventually reached a small cottage that was at the curb of a neighborhood. It was remotely farther from the rest of the houses. Blue Eyes signaled for me to follow him into the house. I was hesitant at first, but then I found myself jogging up his white porch steps and into the cottage. It was warm, welcoming, and smelled of vanilla.

Blue Eyes took off his shoes at the door, I awkwardly did the same. We both were in our plain, white socks in his kitchen that was neat and in prestige condition. I couldn't help but feel astonished by how clean everything was. Hell, even the sink was sparkling and spotless.

"Come," he said. I followed him into his living room and sat down on his leather couch. Oddly comfortable. "I'll go grab the first aid kit, make yourself at home I guess."

I simply nodded. Blue Eyes went off into a hallway, leaving me alone. I gazed around. The living room walls were the shade of clean snow, with only a couple of pictures being hung up. Most of them were of Blue Eyes, I assumed he was an only child in his family. There were also medals, trophies, and certificates scattered around the room as well. Each was shiny and bright, practically bragging how useful Blue Eyes was. I felt a surge of jealousy rush through me.

Blue Eyes eventually came back with a medical kit. He sat down next to me, taking my hand and examining it. He looked up at me, "How did this get like this?"

"I punched a tree," I simply replied.

"Brutally honest, I like that," he grinned from ear to ear, "but this is gonna hurt, so brace yourself."

He opened the first aid kit and took out some, what I would assume to be, rubbing alcohol. He placed it on a clean cloth that and pressed it against my knuckles. I hissed in pain for a brief moment, but then I adjusted to the stinging. He began to clean off the dry blood that was on my hand and wrist. I could tell that he was resisting the urge to laugh. If I was in his shoes, I would probably laugh as well.

After all the dry blood was cleaned off, he took out some kind of ointment and put some on the scratches, or wounds, that were on my knuckles. He rubbed the ointment around then wrapped a gauge around my knuckles. He secured the gauge with a safety pin, then shut his first aid kit. He looked proud of himself, almost as if it was his first time doing that.

"There you go," he finally said, breaking the silence between us. I gazed down at my right hand, the white gauge was a bit red from some blood that was beginning to leak out. I nodded.

"Thanks," I repeated.

"You're welcome. Want anything to drink?" Blue Eyes offered. "I have some coke or root beer if you'd like."

"Coke would be fine." I shrugged. He nodded and went to stand up. Blue Eyes disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a tray of two coke cans and a bowl with a mix of potato chips and Doritos. He set it down on the coffee table and sat down next to me. He passed me a can.

"Thanks." I murmured, opening it. The familiar snap and sizzle of the can was nostalgic, almost like the cigarettes.

"You can stop saying thanks y'know, you've said it enough already," Blue Eyes chuckled. He opened his own can and drank, then wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "If you don't mind me asking, why were you in the woods?"

"I went there at 1:00 in the morning to clear my thoughts, but then it went downhill," I simply shrugged, grabbing a potato chip and shoving it into my mouth. I haven't had commoner's chips in so long, the urge was replenished.

"Ah," Blue Eyes nodded his head, "I see."

"Yes, because you have two eyes." I mindlessly said. Blue Eyes broke into a fit of laughter, his smile growing from ear to ear.

"I like you, you're funny," Blue Eyes smiled, "have you recently moved here? I haven't seen you around these parts before."

"Yeah, I'm from Wisconsin, that one cold state near Canada." I replied, shrugging.

"Oh, cool, welcome to New York State then," Blue Eyes smiled, "the capital of New York State is not New York by the way—it's Albany. It's a common misconception among newcomers."

"Nice to know." I chuckled. Interesting, yet useless, trivia fact that was now going to be implanted in my brain as a simple memory from the past.

Blue Eyes hummed as he leaned back onto the sofa, his eyes sparkling in the artificial lights. He began to slouch a bit, but his grin never faded. "Say, what's your age?"

"Man, you better not be a pedophile or something," I teased.

"I'm the hottest pedophile out there, then," he laughed.

"I'm sixteen years young."

"Oh, I'm turning eighteen soon." Blue Eyes ruffled my hair, "I remember when I was sixteen—"

"So you are a pedophile," I interrupted.

"In a way, a seventeen year old hanging out with a sixteen year old is the equivalence to a fetus hanging out with a newborn baby."

We both broke into laughter, smiles that were unbeatable and happy. My stomach ached from laughing too much, and I felt myself crying. God, I couldn't remember the last time I've actually laughed this much, let alone at a shitty comparison. Blue Eyes smiled.

"So Wisconsin boy, you attending school on Monday?" Blue Eyes asked.

"Most likely, is there one school that everyone goes to?" I asked, suddenly intrigued.

"Yeah, the school's called Freedom High. It's as patriotic as it sounds, our mascot is an eagle and it's on liberty street. The teachers could give less of a crap if there was fights and bullying, though." Blue Eyes just shrugged. "The school is two stories high—it's filled with jocks like Mitchell Hughes. I could ramble on and on about how shitty the school system is but then again, I don't want to scare you."

I simply shrugged, "So, are we friends?"

"Yeah. I'll be your road to new heights." Blue Eyes said, almost as if he was high. He put his can of coke down onto the coffee table and swung his arm around my shoulder, his eyes sparkling. He pulled my closer as he waved his other arm in the air, creating a straight line. "Radical."

"What are you, high?" I rolled my eyes. I couldn't contain my smile and the fit of giggles that rolled out of my mouth.

"Yup. My friends are gonna be totally excited to meet you," Blue Eyes let go of me as he went to take out his phone. The time read 1:03PM—did I really pass out for that long, or was I here for that long? I simply shrugged it off.

He shut off his phone and shoved it into his pocket, then grabbing a handful of chips and shoving them into his mouth. I could hear the crunch and chewing noise that he made. It wasn't particularly gross, but it was quite funny. Well, it was funny to me. I hummed as I grabbed another chip and bit down on it, trying not to be so obnoxious with my chewing.

"Say, what's your name?" Blue Eyes asked, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

"Oh, I'm Seto—Seto Source." I replied. "What's yours?"

"Me?" Blue Eyes asked, "I'm just your normal simpleton born and raised in New York State. I'm Jason Probst Universe."