Fuck. That grey puff of smoke follows him everywhere. The scent of cigarettes sticks everywhere, and it always reminds me of him.
But it's not him.
I haven't seen him in six years, but a simple puff of smoke on the London streets takes me back to t...
The clock is approaching midnight, Matty and I have been laying on the roof of his car for almost three hours now, talking about anything and everything.
He turns to grab his cigarettes and lighter out of his pocket groaning softly. He's always had the same navy blue lighter, he never leaves without one. He says it's because the navy reminds him of the night sky, and when the flame shoots out, it reminds him of me. The light of the moon lighting up the night sky.
He slips a cigarette out and goes to raise it up to his mouth, but I grab his wrist and say "Wait, let me". He gives me a surprised look, I don't usually smoke, but I like to live on the edge every once in a while.
I go to grab it, but he yanks it away and instead says, "let me help you". He scoots closer to me and slowly pulls grabs my chin, making my lips part. He places the cigarette just on the edge of my lips and slowly raises the lighter to the end, holding his usual intense eye contact with me. The flame meets the end of the cigarette, and I blow the smoke out in between our heads. "That was fuckin' hot," I hear his whisper under his breath. We pass the cigarette back and forth until it's done. The chill of the night brings us closer together and he tucks my head onto his shoulder.
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We never defined what our relationship was, we just knew we loved one another. We would kiss, maybe even more, but it was never important to label anything. We knew what it was.He shifts downwards and our noses are touching. He gives me a gentle kiss, and after keeps our foreheads pressed against one another. I smell the smoke on his breath and feel the heat from his body.
The radio begins to softly play "My Kind of Woman" by Mac Demarco as he shifts closer to hold me tighter. "Do you think it'll always be like this?" I ask. "I couldn't ask for anything more. I couldn't love you any more. I'd put my heart out on the line for you," He replies. We fall asleep in each others arms under the illumination of the moon.
Present Day
We probably stare at the other for a minute before either of us make a move. Neither of us know what to do. What used to be so easy has now become uncharted territory.
I don't say anything, but figure there's no way of avoiding the situation. I come out onto the porch and shut the door behind me. I sit down on the stairs and put my head on my knees. Matty follows suit sitting the same way next to me, but leaving some space between us.
For a while we don't say anything, we just sit. I don't even know where to begin. The silence isn't uncomfortable, but there is definitely some tension in the air. I can't even look over towards him until I feel his hand touch my shoulder. I shudder at the unfamiliar feeling, what used to be second nature now feels so foreign.
He doesn't say anything he just hands me a cigarette. I pop it in my mouth as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a lighter.
The same navy blue lighter he always used. I guess some things never change.
"Can't believe you kept up with the lighter tradition," I scoff. "Weird that you had an easier time leaving me behind than you did a fucking lighter."
He says nothing, but just simply raises the lighter to my lips and lights my cigarette for me. I inhale and blow the smoke back out in front of me, blurring my eyes. I want to cough, but I hold back, it's been a while since I've found myself smoking on the porch.
We continue to sit in silence, every now and then just passing back and forth cigarettes. The sun starts to come up, but neither of us make any effort to get up. After hours of silence, Matty finally speaks.
"How've you been?" He asks.
All I can do is laugh. I laugh so fucking hard I start crying. He looks at me like I'm crazy. "You leave with no contact for six fucking years to show up on my porch and ask me what's up?" I reply, still laughing. We make eye contact and he starts to laugh too. And suddenly we're both sitting on the porch in tears laughing like idiots.
For a minute it feels those six years never happened, we fell back into our norm so easily, but all the memories come rushing back when it quiets back down.
"We really need to talk," Matty whispers.
I'm left speechless. Do I even want to talk to him? He left me. I didn't sit around and wait for him to come back for years and years. I had to grow the fuck up. When I was younger I longed for the day he'd come back to me, now he's gonna have to do a lot better than that.
I don't reply for several minutes until I suddenly gather the courage to ask "Why?" I gaze over to him with tears brimming in my eyes.
He meets my eyes, but can't even look at me. "I don't know. I really, really don't fucking know," he says as a tear slips down his face. He wipes it quickly, but I saw it, I know he's hurting.
I'm absolutely not ready at all to let him back in, but right now, we're two hurting, confused people. I scoot closer to him, and rest my head on his shoulder. He looks down at me in shock, I don't know what I'm doing either, but I know I need someone and he's the only one right now who has any idea what I'm feeling.
He loosens up and allows his head to fall onto mine. Neither of us speak, which seems to be a common factor in this entire interaction, but we've never shied away from silence. Neither of us know where to even begin, I think we are both just in awe of the presence of the other.
"I didn't know you were in London," I say. He rubs his curls into my neck and says "I needed something different. There were some things here I needed to come look for." His body language feels almost pained as he admits this and I know just what he's referring to.
He starts to get up to leave, and I stand up as well. I take a minute to just take him in. He looks better, color in his cheeks, his hair is longer and curlier, and he's gotten taller. Why does he have to look so good?
"I won't be a stranger, I promise" Matty says. He slips a piece of paper into my hands as he walks off.
