Is it legit to post a link to a song with mild explicit language, and a somewhat-explicit title?
Will the WordPress police come after me?
I dunno. Meh. Maybe I won’t.
“A**hole” by The Lumineers.
LYRICS:
And I know what you said to me was wrong
But kindness came and bit my tongue
I must admit, the taste of it is keepin' me awake
You did your best to throw me off the scent
Betrayed yourself on accident
I saw it when you lit the filter of your cigarette
And the smoke, it filled your lungs
You left before the sun
First we ever met
You thought I was an a**hole
Probably correct
But I can see your shadow
And all the twenty-something mannequins
Their hearts are barely broken in
But maybe now I'm just a coward envyin' the brave
And every time you tried to let me in
Your nails, they barely broke the skin
I must admit, the taste of it is keepin' me awake
And we passed out on the rug
And you left before the sun
The first we ever met
You thought I was an a**hole
Probably correct
But I can see your shadow
Only for the night
Only for the weekend
Pour another wine
Take me to your deep end
First we ever met (silence, oh, the sinner lost his way)
You thought I was an a**hole
Probably correct (livin' for the love of yesterday)
But I can see your shadow ('cause all alone and all the days)
Only for the night (you're givin' up, you hid away)
Only for the weekend
Pour another wine (livin' for the love of yesterday)
Take me to your deep end
First we ever met
You thought I was an a**hole
Probably correct
But I still feel your shadow
I happened upon an edited version of that song on FM radio on my drive home one night. I've been mainlining The Lost Boys to the point that I thought almost immediately how fitting the song would be coming from David, directed at Michael. Imagine: David handed Michael a cigarette, and Michael was so flustered by David's heated glances that he lit the filter by mistake.
What I actually wrote instead is a hopefully-gender-neutral David x reader piece.
I imagined David finally fetching Chinese for the boys, himself, instead of ordering someone else to do it, at the insistence of the rest of them. He humors them, maybe in part to get a little time on his own. I could see him enjoying solitary moments. People-watching. Except more like people-stalking.
Maybe this could use more sensory details, in relation to sounds and smells in the kitchen, etc. It’s a quick sketch more than a drawn-out story. I describe David more than anything else. But I like how it turned out, mostly.
A word of caution: The short fanfic story below HEAVILY romanticizes sharing a cigarette with someone, and smoking in general. So if that’s not your jam, maybe skip this one.
Already shared on tumblr, but I haven’t posted here in a bit, and thought it might be a fun change of pace, from my usual content. My spin on David in Rock is Undead doesn’t smoke or eat solid food, so this is definitely more on-brand for the movie than my series. A more literal homage.
(I found some great Pexels images of neon dragon signage, but it’s sideways toward the street, not in the front window, so use your imagination here.)
A green neon dragon flickered on and off in the front window, above the illuminated “OPEN” sign. Would it hurt to turn off the lights a few minutes early? It hadn’t been an especially difficult day, but you were tired. Eager to take home some egg rolls and mei fun, stream a cheesy horror flick, take a long, hot shower, and nod off for the night. Hell, maybe you’d even ask for a few fortune cookies. The one free meal per shift was one of the job’s best perks, even if you’d already tried the entire menu.
You stepped up to the front window, about to pull the cord on the signs and unofficially close up for the night. The owner had already gone home, leaving you and the kitchen crew to clean up. He’d count down the drawer in the morning, he’d said. Surely the cooks wouldn’t complain about getting a jump on dishes, especially if you pitched in. You could probably trust them not to say anything.
Beyond the window, you saw the firefly glow of the tip of a cigarette, reminding you that you were on your very last smoke in your pack. The smoker in question stepped out of the shadows and into the pool of light emanating from the orange-tinted sodium-vapor streetlight in front of the restaurant. He’d been walking toward the front door of your establishment but halted when your gaze locked with his.
With a devilish smirk, he inhaled deeply, blowing the smoke in your general direction, long and slow, never once blinking or looking away. Sure, the artificial lighting outside didn’t do anyone any favors, but he looked sexy as hell, regardless. Wasn’t he too warm wearing a leather jacket under a thick black overcoat? It’s not like Santa Carla had the desert climate drop in temperature at night you’d known from your native Los Angeles. Not that LA would have warranted two coats, either.
As though he had all the time in the world, he finished his cigarette, standing just past the curb, in the street that fronted the restaurant. Neither of you broke eye contact. You dropped the hand that had been clutching the cord for the lights. He looked like trouble, but the kind of trouble that might just prove interesting.
The bell above the front door chimed as he finally stepped inside, strides slow and measured. Deliberate. Stalking ever closer, in his slim-fit black jeans and boots.
“The boys declared it was my turn to make the food run. I was just out and about, looking for somewhere to grab a quick…” he paused, his icy blue eyes skating toward your mouth, and down to your throat. “Bite.”
Your pulse sped. Could he tell? He seemed fascinated by your neck. But that’s crazy. He was probably just picking up on your vibes.
You licked your lips and swallowed, throat suddenly dry. “We’re almost closed,” you said, cringing inwardly at your own rudeness.
“Almost, but not quite? Time for me to place an order, and ask you for the pleasure of your company?”
“I thought you said you were bringing the food back to…”
He grinned, angling his head. The barbed wire and black ribbon hooked earring dangling from his left ear followed the movement, drawing your attention. He had a spare cigarette tucked above that ear. Hours had passed since your last smoke break. That small detail made him even more appealing.
“The boys can wait.”
“Won’t they be mad?”
“Maybe, but it’s a risk I’m willing to take.” His voice reminded you of spilled liquor and rippling smoke, pitched deep and rumbling, full of dark promises. “Why don’t I just tell you what I need, and we take it from there?”
“Uh…” you stammered. “As in Chinese food?”
He tipped his head back and laughed. “For now. Let’s start there.”
“Um, okay…” You twisted your hands together awkwardly.
“Paper? Pen?” he asked, smiling. “It’s a big order. What can I say? We get very hungry at night.”
Somehow, you managed to translate all his requests onto paper, even as your hands trembled. “I’ll, uh, be right back. Gotta hand your order off.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
Was it your imagination, or was he staring at your ass as you turned around and walked away? You looked back over your shoulder as the door to the kitchen creaked open. He was smiling, like he’d almost been caught causing mischief.
The lead cook sighed, exhausted. “Tell me this is the last order of the night.”
“It should be, yeah.”
His brows furrowed. “You okay? You look a little flush.”
This only made your face burn hotter, down to your collarbone. You could feel the heat, even if your starchy, white button-down uniform kept you mostly covered. Seeking relief, you fanned your face.
“Um, yeah, just…”
“Whatever. We’ll have it right up.”
Seeking relief, you popped a few buttons at the top of your shirt, and headed back toward your mysterious customer. The moment you stepped through the door, his eyes simmered, skimming over the expanse of skin you’d just exposed.
“You smoke? You wanna head outside for a bit, while we wait for the food?”
“Sure, yeah. That sounds good. Let me just turn off the…”
“Yeah. Wouldn’t want anyone else to interrupt us now, would we? I say you’re closed.”
That snapped you out of your reverie. Sure, he looked like sin on a stick, bleach-blond, spiked mullet and all, but still. “Listen, I don’t know you, and…”
He raised his arms, black leather gloved hands palm-outwards in surrender. “You’re right. That was presumptuous of me. Please, may we step outside? It’s a beautiful night. But then, all the nights here are, each in their own way.”
You followed him outside but sparked the flint of your own lighter before he had the chance to light your last cigarette for you, feeling the need to establish just a little distance. Even that proved difficult, with him hovering nearby, smelling of musk and leather, and tobacco, watching you with keen interest.
The cigarette smoke tasted like burnt plastic, and a foul scent hung in the air. “What the hell?” You pulled the cigarette away from your lips with a jerk. Great! You’d been so distracted, you’d lit the filter end. Again, heat flared along your cheekbones.
Dejected, you heaved a massive sigh. “Well, I suppose I could rip the filter off…”
“Please. Allow me.” He retrieved his spare smoke from behind his ear, and placed it between his own lips, sensuous and full. The glow from his lighter bathed his face in golden light, much more flattering than the streetlight had been. He looked almost angelic. A fallen angel, maybe.
Taking a few puffs just to get the cherry going, he pressed the filtered end to your lips, like a kiss.
You took a slow, calming drag.
“I’m David, by the way. And you are…?”
(Of course, he’d be wearing his trademark gloves, but meh, it’s a nice photo.)
(Also, as an aside, I attended the first session of a two-part course on memoir writing at the library tonight. Very inspiring! Came home, ordered delivery for dinner, did some tidying, and threw this story together… it had been brewing in my mind for a bit before that, though.)
All the Bright and Sparkly Things 
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