fragments

Pretty Boy

                               
                        Beware/Deftones

(Song has nothing to do with the story but i'm obsessed with it and strangely I found it in Kirstie's spotify playlist)

My hands are shoved in my pockets as I walk through the empty streets, the only sound being my bag rattling against my back as I walk.

Time doesn't matter in my mind when the sun is down. It's just a concept made by humans to make themselves feel more significant, to fall into the assumption that spending their precious time with someone makes them important, more desired.

Desired.

It brings a bitter taste in my mouth and makes me want to wipe it clean. Words that are not associated with hatred don't fit there, they shouldn't fit.

Not for me.

When I reach my door I see him.

He's sitting at my front porch, his hand balanced on his knees as he puffs out smoke from a cigarette and I want to knock it out of his hand. Something so beautiful shouldn't cut his stay on earth shorter than it is.

He's dressed in a black turtle neck and black jeans and his long bangs sit messily tangled over half of his face, sure sign that he ran his hands through them a lot.

He turns his head and looks at me, puffing smoke out again.

The street lamp casts an ethereal glow over his face and my hands are itching for the camera that sits in my backpack.

He  throws the blunt on the floor, stepping on it with his foot and making me wonder how can someone make such a regular movement so graceful.

"Pretty boys like you shouldn't be roaming the streets this late."

His voice is high and melodic and I clear my throat subconsciously before speaking.

"I could say the same thing."

He smiles at me and I take it as an invitation to sit next to him. He's like a magnet, pulling me closer with his every move.

He opens his packet and offers me a cigarette when I sit and I shake my head.

He shrugs.

"So pretty boy, what brings you here at-" he takes his phone out of his pocket and looks-"5:30."

I chuckle and open my bag, taking my camera in my hand, my brain still shouting at me to capture him.

"I'm a photographer. The best things happen at night around here. Also, this is kind of my house."

He laughs and takes out yet another cigarette and a lighter and this time I can't stop myself and I snap a picture as he lights it.

He lets out a small laugh between cigarette sealed lips.

He takes his time, taking the first drag slowly and the smoke burns my lungs as well, suffocating me.

Or perhaps it's just his presence.

"What was that for?"

I turn and look around, not replying just yet. Tall buildings are hiding the night sky and everything around us is so ugly and artificial making him seem even brighter than he is.

If I could read auras, his would be a bright golden one shining light on everything around him.

"I can't resist beautiful things." I turn back to him and extend my hand. "I'm Scott."

He chuckles again and extends a hand as he puffs smoke in front of my face and clouds my vision.

He gives me a firm handshake and I notice that his nails are painted black carefully and that a gold ring adorns one of his fingers.

"Mitch."

We sit in comfortable silence for a while before he looks at his phone again and props himself upwards.

"Won't you look at that pretty boy, it's already 6. I have go but it was nice talking to you."

I want to ask him to stay, to come inside.
I want to let my finger trace the curves on his beautifully sculpted face and run my hands through his hair.

But the words are caught in my throat as their impact dawns on me.

When I don't reply he gives me a small smile and turns around to leave.

His walk is elegant, like the rest of him;careful like the earth may open up if he steps too hard on it.

His body swings as he walks in the middle of the road. It's like he's mocking death in a sense, inviting him to throw a car his way.

"Mitch!"

He turns around and only then does it hit me that I just called for him.

"I just- When can I see you again? I want to photograph you."

He gives me a small smirk and takes another drag of his cigarette and I can't be mad at him for it as he looks like a work of art.

"Don't worry pretty boy. I know where you live. Come out here again tomorrow and I might just let you."

And with that he's gone into the night, leaving me alone in front of my door, watching him walk away.

I stay out until the sun rises, thoughts of him clouding my head before I finally unlock the door.

                                        ***

I think this should have a part two, don't you?

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