Taylor rolled his last cigarette. He balanced on the edge of an abandoned shed's roof. It creaked under his weight, threatening with every movement to collapse beneath him. He ignored the noise, its complaint only something he would acknowledge after the fact, sometime after he had a broken arm after it fell. The view was simply too beautiful to look away from. The blue and pink skyline may be artificial, the illumination from the city lights down below, but it still conjured up pleasant feelings inside of him. He would have loved to see it before the Rising.
He dangled his feet over the edge, tempting his own fate as his black boots knocked against the metal wall. The shed was held together by rusty nails, screws, and duck tape. Whoever had used this as shelter hadn't minded what kept the thing together as long as it stood upright. He supposed the person never thought a grown man would be perched upon it.
He popped his cigarette between his lips and leaned back with one arm outstretched to balance himself. He twisted the silver ring on his middle finger to face the inside of his palm. The trick to do it one-handed was to use his thumb in a flicking motion. The more he did it, albeit, the more he smoked, the better he got at it. He held it to the end of his cigarette. The protective metal cover on the ring flipped up, sensing the cigarette. The small blue flame illuminated his face as he lit his cigarette. The heat relieved his lips and nose for a moment from the freezing weather. It didn't last, though he would have been happy to sit with the flame against his face all night. Fuel wasn't cheap.
With the flick of his hand, the lid snapped shut on the ring.
He took a long drag. The ember glowed a brilliant red, not muted by the evening sky. The silent seconds ticked away with his cigarette. Down below, in the city where he would eventually have to return to, he could see all the way to the next district. Nio was a district of lights and large mansions; Nitro featured smoke, fire, and humans who loved both as much as drugs; Neutral Zone was covered in feds; and Kitro, the slums Taylor called home, was no different than Nitro except they didn't burn their own homes. Idiots.
Days became a blur in Mason. The controlled districts were mining centers for the government's officials. They could either get their rocks off, pay hookers, rape, murder; this was their town. Feds rarely entered the districts without some morally corrupt lust in mind. Reasons being they were born from these places. Outside of Mason, the Silic District was the governments official home. Taylor could only imagine what the place looked like compared to the districts here. From what he'd heard about Nio, the f*****g nicest place on the planet, he would probably drop dead if he ever laid eyes on Silic.
"Hey, Taylor."
A hand slapped down on Taylor's shoulder. He coughed and choked on his cigarette's smoke.
He looked up with glassy eyes. Ryan, his best friend (the only "friend" he had), stood over him in a purple t-shirt and black studded pants. The shirt was so sheer he could see Ryan's binder through the threads. Taylor coughed again, covering his face with his hand. He reached out and grabbed Ryan by the ankle. Before Ryan could even think about shaking his hand off, he yanked. Ryan's shoes, black boots like Taylor's, slipped out from underneath him. He fell sideways and hit his arm against Taylor's shoulder. He landed with his back against the roof of the shed. The ancient shed gave a low, squeaky grown.
Ryan twisted around, righting himself with a grimace. "What the f**k?"
His eyes, lined in black coal, matched his painted blue lips. It looked good on him, though it was a bit of an overkill. He no longer looked like the same person Taylor had met fives years ago when they were teens looking for trouble.
By the time Taylor was fifteen he'd already smoked anything that would light. He'd tried the Wolves' stash of drugs and picked his first fight before he'd met Ryan, all because he was a cocky kid who thought he was a grown man. He'd barely had any hair on his chin at that time.
That changed. He rubbed his chin, itching the light facial hair. He hadn't changed much, but he had least didn't look like a spoiled twink anymore. When he sat beside Ryan, not including Ryan's certain tastes in clothing, their differences were more defined. Ryan had been a girl the first time Taylor had met him. He'd been dressed in a torn skirt over a pair of stained jeans but with a t-shirt like the one he wore now. His hair had been longer, past his waist. When he changed his name, he'd chopped it short, at chin level. He wore it down now, his brown curls a mess, but it suited him. His soft features were more masculine when he wore it this way.
Taylor grinned and touched his cigarette to his lips. He had half a mind to smear Ryan's makeup to spite him.
Ryan glared as he sat up. "Asshole."
Taylor passed his cigarette to Ryan, a peace offering of sorts. Ryan took it with a loose hand and placed it between his blue tinted lips. The lipstick rubbed off on it and smeared above Ryan's upper lip. Taylor looked at the smudge, rolling his eyes when Ryan smiled. He stuck his tongue out as he let go of the cigarette. His pierced tongue licked across his lips, smoke rolling from his mouth. He took a long drag and passed the cigarette back. Taylor looked at his soiled cigarette. He sighed as he wiped the lipstick on his pant-leg, hoping he could save the darn thing. It was his last one.