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The Cigar

The Cigar
by Cat


RATED: G (and no this does not stand for good, lol)
PAIRING: Um...it's so short, you'll see. ;-)
GENRE: Angst with a bit of slashy overtones :-)
WARNINGS: A bit sappy...can't help it. That's my mood. :) Oh, and brief, veddy brief. Not to mention the inference of a m/m relationship.
SPOILERS: None I can think of.
SUMMARY: It's so brief, you don't need one. LOL

* * * * *

It still smells like him.

It's faint, but the aroma is still there. A not too expensive, but definitely not cheap tobacco that he sometimes went well out of his way to get.

I don't know how long I've sat here in this room, with just the fire in the fireplace for light, looking at the damned thing. Time just doesn't mean the same thing for me anymore.

Nothing means the same for me anymore.

The others asked me why I insist on keeping this thing, why I sit here every night and look at it as it sits on the nightstand beside my bed. Truth be told, I've asked *myself* those same questions a time or two...or three. The answer is...I don't know. I just do it.

On second thought, maybe I *do* know why I do it.

It's a part of him that I can relate to, a part that I shared with him that I didn't have to keep under wraps, in private; a part that I could flaunt to the whole world as something we had 'in common.'

If only the world knew just how *much* we had in common...

I sigh and lean over to open the humidor beside 'his' cigar, and extracted my own, freshly purchased and soon to be freshly lit. It doesn't hold nearly the same appeal to me as the old one, but it *does* give me a *little* bit of comfort to see smoke trails wafting heavenward as I lean against the headboard.

Almost...but not quite like before.

"I miss you kid," I rasp around the cylindrical object in my mouth that only feels like a cigar. I don't taste it, haven't tasted them in over a year now.

"My god, I miss you."

I close my eyes and think of his face.

*My* Face.


~finis~


The Cigar by Cat

 

 


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