joshler oneshots

a view with a killer smile

summary:

tyler frequents the streets of san francisco. josh lives in an apartment with a window facing the street.

words: 504

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the taste of smoke and dust had become a drug to tyler.

that particular combination permeated the streets of san francisco, and so that is where he walked.

its a rather strangely cold day, and the cold air stings tyler's cheeks and his fingertips tingle. the sky is grey and overcast, but the faint glow of lights from the windows above can be seen. sometimes tyler will sit on a bench across the street and watch the windows of a blue painted apartment building. sometimes, a man will lean out; he'll pull a cigarette out and pull it to his lips. the smoke that drifts from his window is invisible against the usually grey sky.

tyler takes a seat in his usual place; the bench is painted a peeling red in an effort to make it pop. he sits and he watches, and the first indications of rain begin to creep in as clouds roll and the atmosphere becomes imperceptibly more melancholy. the window slides open, and the boy is there.

his hair is different, tyler notices. it's red now.

it begins to drizzle.

the sidewalk, which used to be full of bustling middle aged men and women and families of excited tourists and art enthusiasts holding starbucks cups, is quickly emptying.

tyler doesn't move.

the man is propping his elbows onto the windowsill, occasionally lifting a hand to lift the cigarette to his lips or to flick the ash onto the floor far below. his head turns at he gazes up and down the sidewalk, and puts a hand out to test the rain. tyler and a few others are the only that remain outside. suddenly, the window is closed, and the cigarette is discarded, thrown out the window in an act of carelessness. tyler frowns at the sudden disappearance.

tyler looks at the sky, and drops of rain roll down the back of his neck. tyler knows his hair is already wet, and his thin adidas jacket is already soaked through. he can't help but shiver slightly. but tyler doesn't make any move to go inside. the flavor of san francisco is still there, but now there is a satisfying edge to it. he can't feel his fingertips anymore.

suddenly, there is a presence next to him, and he turns his head to the left.

he's there.

his bright red hair puts the bench's color to shame. he smirks a little, and shoves his hands into the pockets of his ripped black skinny jeans.

"wanna get out of the rain?"

his voice is husky, and it sounds so blue-grey-burgundy that he can't help agreeing.

he smiles again, and a silver ring glints in his nose as he tilts his head from the other side.

"don't worry, there's a great view from my window."

his name is josh, and he tastes like san francisco.