✙ ▬ Ｄａｒｋ Ｃｈｉｌｄ
it was cold, the kind of icy chill that leaks into timeless bones, yet he felt no trace of the air against his exposed skin — fingers curled into a loose cup shape around the thin cigarette that jolts between pale lips. his hands protect the burning flame from being blown out by the wind. he takes a steady drag from the rolled paper, inhaling, toxins dip and float around in dead lungs before he exhales it back out. the smoke drifts in languid circles in front of his face blending into too still atmosphere; dispersing within empty gray clouds. the scent remains behind.
it replaces any traces of humanity stench that sticks to his clothing, brushing up against sweat beaded skin and slick desires inside of the cramped club below. his own dark tresses smell of another that he left dead in the tiny spaces of a hazardous bathroom, a hint of marijuana traced throughout the locks, flirts with her desire that he can partially still smell on him.
The words drenched in disgust hang limp in the air, next to his pride. He swore he recognized that angst from somewhere, in the exact same tone. The thought fell behind his desire to retaliate. As though living, he felt it flowing from within, making its way to the surface, to the tip of his fingers. Much like a restless, vengeful ghost, the anger that shook his flesh was intense that his hand balled into a fist just to contain it.