《The Bad Boy》Umeji Kizuguchi x Reader

Chapter Nine Preview

Hey everyone! It's, uh... it's been a while. I'm currently working on the next chapter, but I keep finding things to add or remove, so it's taking longer than expected. It's like 95% done, don't worry, but I figured that while y'all are waiting, I would release a sneak peek to show I'm actually working on this book lol. 

Don't worry about these previews becoming frequent. They won't, I promise. I don't think I'll do previews much in the future. It's just been so long since I've released an update, I figured you guys deserve to see some new content. I asked, and some readers wanted a preview so here you go! 

This preview is formatted to show different parts of the chapter, so if it seems grating, it's because I'm showing SPECIFIC parts. Keep in mind some things in this preview might change when the actual chapter is released. Minor changes ofc, but still. I hope you enjoy!

       A glimmering fire of orange light flamed to existence from the lighter contained in the hand of the temporary leader of the delinquents as he flipped over the silver base lid, firmly rolled a thumb over the metal spark wheel, and lightened the end of his cigarette. Emanations of ablaze and flaring crackles sparked on the ember shortly as it suddenly flickered to life. He used the curve of his palm to impede any breeze disturbances and to momentarily shroud out the viewing of his cigarette, the luminosity of the swaying tangerine hue radiating onto his shadowed features. The ignited cigarette dangled loosely from the slope of his slightly parted lips. Smoke infiltrated his lungs, inflaming his sensitive tissues, a series of hoarse coughing happening as a consequence; being a casual smoker, his body disliked the delayed ingestion of cigarettes and frequented the unpleasurable bodily reactions. Recomposure wasn't too challenging but he exhausted his effort, so he sighed, long-winded, taking a minute to stall another drag. Occasional puffs of smoke departed from his mouth as he released polluted exhalations, trails of airborne grey particles ascending above his head before disappearing seconds later with the moderate flowing of passing winds.

"What a freaking morning."

      He stared at cigarette number 8 in his hands. A mass combination of cancer that becomes seemingly mollified by the professional names covering the thousands of incredibly dangerous chemicals.

"You're going to have to start smoking frequently," Umeji recalled Hayanari's instruction after introducing him to his cigarette carton,"the addiction starts off almost instantly. For your body to handle the nicotine, you can't smoke casually. Unless you want to hack your lungs out every time you pick up a smoke. Almost all smokers smoke several cigs a day. It can't be something to do once a month."

"Tch," he muttered.

      And to think just over a year ago, the mere idea of partaking in the intoxication of any substance would've been met with refusal. He'd never been fond of drugs or smoking or whatever the narcotic may be. Even now, he remains unimpressed and dissatisfied. And yet he chose to do this, feeling as though he had to. Because he needed to.

      Slanted against the wall next to the right side of the school entrance gate, Umeji resided, located beside a tall hedge, smoking, obscured from an area of sight. He harboured no compulsive tendency to engage in an addictive routine with nicotine, neither did he possess any form of an innate pleasure from his occasional indulgence; this wasn't a regular occurrence, after all, nor was it a custom he endeavoured to partake in, at least as a daily ritual. Rather, it was an "activity" of the sorts he'd grown accustomed to fairly recently on a standard to the taboo nature of his unconventional lifestyle . . . To maintain his image, he'd think from time to time . . . An inward dismissal followed expectedly as he shook his head to eliminate the thought; there was no necessity to regard those thoughts. He didn't like to be reminded of exactly WHY he was a delinquent; it's as if he wanted to reconstruct his memories, 'cause a path of delinquency defined by self-motivation as opposed to a method to avoid trauma sounded much less shameful, did it not? Those statements of delinquency he projected to the world needed to be defined as something clearly cynical, not emotional. A threatening aura- that unspoken statement of apparent delinquency- worked wonders to have others avoid him like the plague.