cigarette daydream ━━ the raven cycle

6; black swans

     So full of crap. "If you're saying you've never satisfied me, I agree." I heard Jiang behind me make a small choking sound.

    His tongue clung to the inside of his cheek, a visible ball appearing, his lips agape. "I have something for you." He leaned in, pressing a pack of cigarette into my hands. Then he reached to his back picket and started pulling out more items.

He hands me a pile of identical cigarette packs— all a deep red on the outside, and have an unfamiliar brand name on it. Dreamer. "What is this?" I asked dryly.

"Had them lying around." He said as he flopped onto the armchair. Jiang slipped away by the time I sat down on the couch beside him. Kavinsky leaned on the edge of his seat, inching into me. His eyes scanned my weary expression, "Race me."

I scoffed, grabbing his lighter to light the cigarette. "No fucking way." He's been trying to get me to race him since I've met him. But I knew that racing meant something different to him. That it was a metaphor, a chess game, interpreting it as a play of power in his weird, deeply fucked up brain. I wouldn't willingly step into that.

"You're a coward, St. James."

"You're a fucking joke, Joseph." I say, huffing out the cigarette smoke. I inhaled deeply, staring into space momentarily before turning to him with a stern expression. "I'm not here to race you."

"Then why are you here?"

I don't know. I instantly went to the question that I've been pondering about since we dated. I took one more look at him, making sure he was drunk enough to forget I asked this tomorrow. "Why'd you do it?"

"Why'd I do what?"

"Date me."

A laugh escaped him, rolling his eyes. "Don't act like the victim, St. James— you thrived off of me." When I didn't reply, he continued. "Always wanted to tame a wolf."

     I locked my jaw. "Try again." There was something about him that was so draining.

     "Fine." His expression was scorched when he looked at me. "I felt like destroying something beautiful."

I threw my cigarette to the tray, throwing the pack over to him. If he wasn't willing to give me the honest answer, then I had no business staying here any longer. I stood from my seat, visibly irritated from him.

     Douchebag, I thought wryly as I threw the packs on a nearby table— although I couldn't stop myself from sneaking two packs into the pockets of my leather jacket. Jiang peeks through my hair. "Want a beer?"

     My eyes were on the spiral staircase of the house when I answered; "No."

I couldn't help myself— I walked up the stairs, despite the generally known rule that if you were to attend one of Kavinsky's parties, the second and third floor were always off-limits. But I never cared much for following social cues.

I ascended the stairs, making my way to his bedroom. It was a myriad of clutter piled over each other, identical leather wristbands by his bedside, a mound of fake identification cards, vandalised books on the corner.

It was utterly fascinating. It looked almost as chaotic as I imagined his brain to be.

My phone buzzed, and I placed it between my tilted ear and raised shoulder, hands both occupied with the snow globe in my hands. Is this a snow globe of Henrietta? I couldn't begin to wonder how he managed to buy that. He didn't seem like the type to buy a custom snow globe of a town he recently moved to, and wasn't much fond of. "Hello?"

"Daisy?" The voice on the line asked. "It's Gansey."

I froze in my place for a moment, stuck by a peculiar feeling. How the hell did he get my phone number? "Gatsby." I answered brightly, setting the snow globe down. "Huh." I say, picking up the phone with my hand, my other hand tracing over Kavinsky's things. "Never pegged you for a stalker."

"Oh— Blue gave Adam your phone number."

"Why would she do that?"

"He sent her flowers." He said nonchalantly. I could hear Adam from a distance shout; "Might as well just broadcast it to the world— put it on tomorrow's newspaper, would you?"

    "Flowers?" I asked, a laugh huffing out of me. I opened one of the drawers as I spoke, seeing an entire drawer of keys. I narrowed my eyes at the sight, wondering how the fuck Kavinsky has all this shit.

     "Flowers." He confirmed. "Anyway, I was wondering how you would feel about meeting up with us tomorrow— we have this working theory that you're somehow connected to this. That you could help."

"Why's that?"

"I've been looking for Welsh Kings all my life and I've only ever gotten remotely close the night I met you." He said, adding a dramatic emphasis on the last word. "But like I said, it's a working theory. You won't know if you never agree. I'm just hoping it's a theory you're willing to test."

    He's good. So good that I felt goosebumps rising in my arms. But I couldn't let him know that. "That sounded practiced." I finally spoke.

    This time, it was Ronan's voice in the background saying; "Seven tries."

    Gansey seemed unfazed when he spoke. "Had to make it compelling. You sound like a hard person to persuade." He said simply. "So, did it work? Did I persuade you, Daisy?" He asked in an enticing voice.

    I pretended to consider it for a moment. "You managed."

"Great." He said. "Tomorrow— Nino's at two."

When I closed the phone call, I looked around for a moment. I felt content enough to leave, but even still—  I didn't leave empty handed. I couldn't.

Taking his car keys placed on his bedside, I wondered how Kavinsky would like it if I destroyed his beautiful white car.