One Shots

Blaze Fanfiction (Miskey - PG-13)

A/N: A BLAZE FANFICTION and if you have no idea what Blaze is then you really need to go down to @SuperheroesAndSprite's profile right now and check out her story which, of course, is titled "Blaze" the pairing is Mi/Whiskey. I don't even know what possessed me to do this tbh. But I love these characters so much and I love that story so much. You won't regret reading the story. I'm going to say that this is slightly AU. I don't know. I hope you enjoy :o 

                        Falling Apart and Barely Holding On

    Whiskey sat beside Mi on top of a bin that they'd toppled onto its side and placed their coats beneath them, because it had rained––on top of the snow that was already paving the streets––leaving the side of the bin damp and cold. They didn't want to get the back of their trousers wet, cause that would be awkward and embarrassing.

   So they sat, shivering and feeling a little bit stupid for taking their coats off in the first place considering it was below freezing and they were in Canada for Christ sake. It was a pretty dumb idea, but then it sort of made sense with it being the two of them. Dumb ideas were the only kinds of ideas they ever had.

    Mi sat with a cigarette between the red raw fingers of one hand and a can of beer in his other, that was still gloved. The other glove had been taken off so that he didn't set the material alight while trying, clumsily, to light his cigarette in a haze of drunkenness.

     The fresh snow of December had long turned into slush, now. Christmas had been and gone and they were in a new year, the very beginning of January. The gang––well, the used-to-be gang would be more accurate––had found themselves slowly falling apart and it had been a year since Whiskey last saw Lake.

    Nothing had changed for Whiskey. And if it had, he barely noticed it. The only thing that seemed to have changed, was the way Mi acted around him. He was often lost to alcohol and nicotine, escaping the nightmare that was his home life.

    Whiskey knew that it wasn't much of a change, Mi had always been lost to alcohol and favored choking his lungs with all kinds of smoke, whether it be cigarettes or drugs. Mi didn't seem to care anymore. Whiskey, however, cared a whole lot. Probably enough for the both of them.

    And sitting there beside him in the freezing cold of the winter air, on top of a toppled bin, Whiskey couldn't help but wonder what life would have been like if he'd never met Mi. Or if Mi had never been abused. Or if Lake and Beatle had never left. Or if– if...what ifs were never good things to think about.

    Whiskey licked his dry, chapped lips and noted the way his tongue slid along them rough and jagged. He thought that if it had been any colder, the torn skin of his lips would have frozen and felt like tiny razors, slicing into the underside of his tongue, the taste of copper engulfing his taste buds.

     Then he looked back at Mi and thought, well, he already had a tiny razor slicing into him a little more each day, except this one was buried deep inside his chest where Mi had left it the first time they'd met, smug smile and sharp swears cutting through his teeth with an arrogance that Whiskey had never been able to match.

    But they'd cut right into him in the most beautiful way. Straight through his skin and into his heart and Whiskey knew that even if he had the choice, he wouldn't remove it. And it was sort of masochistic, in a way. That he liked the pain that Mi caused him.

    He wished he could take all of Mi's sorrows and bury them inside his own chest too, because Whiskey seemed to handle pain and sadness better than Mi did. He hated seeing Mi the way he was seeing him right now. Depressed, run down and fading away, almost as if the town was forgetting him. In some ways, it felt like the town was forgetting them all.