The Concept of Fire

Trystan’s finger’s have always looked pale. And they always looked even paler as he pulls a cigarette out of his pocket. He wondered if it looked natural, because it was certainly starting to feel that way. He could still remember the first time he felt the too-smooth feeling of the light paper skin, how it seemed to radiate poisonous air. It’s not like Trystan was scared or anything. Going through life hearing rumours about those things just made it natural. To set the rumor straight, everyone was absolutely right. Trystan could still feel a little ping of fear in his chest every time he pulled out another.

Crash

Trystan immediately knew that it was Matthew who slammed into one of the lockers bordering the wall. The wall that was far too close to him for Trystan’s liking. Feigned and innocent, he looked at Trystan with true, undying fear. It made Trystan sick. All of it. That’s when he lost it, flicking open his lighter and finally going through with lighting his cigarette from where it limply hung out his lips.

The other boy widened his too-large green eyes and sputtered out something that vaguely resembles speech. Pathetic. Trystan took his time pulling the cigarette out of his mouth and deeply inhaled, and suddenly he remembered why he did it.

“Hello?”

Matthew shakily grinned and shook his head.

This had been happening more often as of late. Matthew crashing into his day, quite literally, like he could hardly walk in a straight line anymore. He was unsteady and everyone could see it, and Trystan knew that if something didn’t happen, he would break.

Maybe they could see eye-to-eye then. Trystan snorted at the thought of having anything in common with Matthew, the cutsie little sunshine child. All light and bright things. Everything bright and beautiful seems to reflect off of the boy, making everything brighter and bold. And yet Matthew still choose to stay idly in the background, not acknowledging the fact that he shakes up the room just by stepping inside.

Now, Trystan sighs at the boy. Maybe in another life he would have glared or glowered, but now he was simply too tired.

“Take your time.”

Matthew looked at him with caution, as he did with every other living thing, searching for the million and one ways that things could go wrong, as if anything could go wrong. This was nothing new to Trystan, an everyday occurrence at that. He’d probably just apologize and walk away, only to repeat the process in a day or so. It was customary. It was balanced. It was-

“Who’s your father, Trystan?”

-not what Trystan was expecting. His father? Now his father wasn’t the most innocent man in the world, but why would Matthew want anything to do with him? What has his blasted father done this time?

Matthew must have seen something unsightly on Matthew’s face, because he quickly adds, “It’s nothing, forget I said anything.”

Forget I said anything? How could he said that after proclaiming something like that? Trystan tried studying the boy, but he was locked tight.

“What? No! What do you want from my father?”

Trystan crushed the cigarette in his hand, ignoring the antagonising scorch it left on his palm.

Matthew squeaked, in quite a pathetic manner, but he was locked tight. What was odd was the fact that he looked like he didn’t want to be. Like he was held back by some invisible force. His fear perhaps? Ha, the whole thing was so cliche.

“Well?”

It came out impatiently, shakily, so not Trystan at all, and he wasn’t sure if it was from the impatience or the burning of the cigarette still in his hand. He opened his hand and let the ashes fall to the ground.

Matthew’s pupils must have shrunk to have their original size.”

“It’s nothing! It’s nothing, I swear!”

He sounded like I’d hit him, his voice ringing high.

Trystan glared annoyingly, this was a bad sign.

And soon enough, Matthew’s guardian angel was by his side, yelling at him, demanding to know exactly what he’d done and whether she’d have to fight him or not. It was honestly quite obnoxious. At an earlier point, Trystan might have cared about the situation, let himself get sucked into the drama, but at this point, all he felt was a numb, raging question. One he was too much of a coward to ask.

All he did was watch the thin sheens of smoke cloud the air. Smoke. Maybe sometimes smoke wasn’t a sign of danger, smoke in that moment was simply just too tired to continue burning.

Trystan walked away without a word.