A Trail of Smoke and Smugglers (Santi/PopexReader)

The Devil Himself

"What the hell are you talking about? What pushing and pulling?" He questioned with irritation, his eyes meeting mine in the mirror.

I shook my head and found more interest in the view outside Will's window. "You can't make up your damn mind, Pope. You act like you care, then you make me feel like shit, you try to pick me up again, and then you drop me."

"What?! When did I drop you?" He didn't look at me in the mirror, but rather angled his head towards my face, physically turning in his seat.

"Eyes on the road, Santi!" I instructed, forcing my hand against his shoulder to make him turn around. He conceded and returned, but his inquiry still lingered. "When you- You know what? Forget it. I'm not doing this with you."

Pope removed his sunglasses and stared at me hard into the mirror. "Why don't you stop deflecting and just tell me what's wrong, (Y/N)? What did I do?" He squinted his eyes in anger and confusion, while his fingers griped the arm of his sunglasses.

"I'm not- I'm not deflecting. Why would I justify your own drunken words, Santi?" My voice lowered and I dropped my gaze to stare at the center console, our heated conversation fizzling out, but the tension remained.

"What drunken words? What did I say?" He asked more quieter than his previous exclamations and in a calmer tone. His expression dissolved bewilderment, terror, and even regret for not remembering.

I bit the inside of my lip, distracting me from his words that I had tried to forget over the past few days.

Why did I care so much about what he had to say or even his opinion about me?

It was easier to forget the words of a stranger or an acquaintance, but Santi's words lingered with me, like the way that the smell of spring attaches itself to freshly dried linens on a warm day after drying on the clothesline.

"A drunk mind speaks a sober heart. Jean-Jacques Rousseau." I replied, remembering the quote from another author that I once cherished. I retreated my eyes to pretend to admire the scenery were were passing, ignoring the way that Saint's eyes were worriedly trained on me from the mirror.
***
After another hour of being awake with Santi, we exchanged no words, but many, many glances in the rear-view mirror. Sometimes, it was purely accidental. One of us was curiously watching the space behind the car, and the other just so happened to check at the same time.

However, there were times when I purposefully stared into the mirror, waiting for him to connect our stares again, eager to satisfy a deep, foreign, and strange desire of needing to see his reflection.

And I think he was doing the same thing.

We had finally and successfully made it to the thickly and dense jungle, the car attempting to maneuver through the overgrowth and untamable nature. The vehicle roughly jolted and bounced over the terrain, therefore slowly stirring everyone to moving again.

Pope had backed the car into a smoother patch. We were surrounded by abounding greenery and overhanging plants, trees, and whatever else that comprised our new and erratic environment of foliage. Once the car was parked, all of us were itching to be freed from the confines of the vehicle.

Fish straightened and removed his sunglasses, now feeling the car having come to a complete stop. Will had already been awake for the recent minutes of our journey and quickly opened the door, exiting the vehicle in a hurry. Because Fish was trapping me in the car, I had no other outlet than to follow Will.

I shuffled across the seat and prepared to step out of the car. As I looked up, I saw Will's extended hand towards me, an offering to assist me from the backseat and into the open air of the jungle.