102. (Based on the song '102' by The 1975.)

This is the song, feel free to listen to it while reading :)

“So… you ever gonna tell me why we’re here?” You were propped against the park bench, a cigarette jutting out from the side of your mouth. It started to drizzle ever so slightly, the light rain and the cold wind not seeming to bother you in the slightest bit, even though you were wearing that same goddamn thin ass flannel, crop top and ridiculously short booty shorts that you almost always seem to wear around me. “This is my lucky outfit,” you used to argue whenever I would mention anything about whatever you were wearing. “Stop judging!”

Used to.

True enough, we haven’t seen each other in ages. I haven’t seen anyone in ages.

“…I don’t know,” I said, but paused when you inhaled the cancer stick deeply. Your lip curved up the slightest bit when you noticed me staring. With your trademark grin, you exhaled slowly, the wisps of white smoke drifting up into nothingness. You raised your eyebrows at my unamused expression. “What, you gonna lecture me about how bad this is again?”

I gave a weak smile, chuckling softly and jokingly shook my own cigarette at you. “That would be hypocritical now, wouldn’t it?”

There was something in your tired eyes then, but I couldn’t put my finger on what it was. If I didn’t know better, I would’ve thought it was regret or sympathy. Knowing you, though; you’ve always lacked those things in whatever you did.

You shook your head then, laughing brokenly, your messy locks falling around your face. Your chainsmoking habit did take its toll on your voice, after all. I wonder what happened to your dreams of being a Broadway singer. You looked up at me, your eyes clearly searching for something in mine. I didn’t question you, I never did. It would always end up in another pointless argument, which I tended to avoid even though I do like the look on your face when we did just that.

“You got another fag?”

“There’s only four left, don’t go too crazy.” I silently cursed myself for not bringing more, and for burning through 3 sticks already in less than hour.

“Woah, you’re finally getting on my level.” You nodded your head jokingly, and ground your burnt-out cigarette on the ground with the heel of your shoe.

“Well, I learn from the best.” I retorted. The used-up stubs littered the ground, looking so out of place among the green grass and flowers growing beneath us.

You let out a shaky breath, turning your head away. You rubbed your nose briefly. “Hey, it’s a hundred and two.” You gave a small smile, but it faltered.

It always did whenever you were with me recently, no matter in person or through screens.

You opened your mouth as if to say something, but replaced your words with a fresh cig.

“What is it?”

“Nah, nothing important.” You puffed out a smoke ring. “I just wanted to say, it’s our time.”

It was now my turn to look away. The park was near empty now, and there was still an occasional someone taking a midnight stroll around the area, but no one wanted to get near us. It wasn’t a surprise, we both didn’t look like someone you’d want to ever cross paths with.

I think you noticed the heavy silence, and I think that’s why you decided to ask me about myself. “Apart from dragging your life down the drain like me, what have you been up to? You know I miss my best friend.”

“Yeah, about that.” I chuckled humorlessly.

Telling you about everything wasn’t hard, nor was it an alien thing to me. Words did flow out freely, as well as the occasional tear that you didn’t comment about. We did always make it a point to talk and rant about our dramatic lives whenever we could when we were together. Your smile was supposed to help, I know, as well as your optimistic words, like how I was so much better than you, how I could still succeed, how I would find someone some day and finally settle down, unlike you who did the exact opposite.

At least, that’s what you used to do.

“Enough about me, I’m getting sick of myself again.” I gave her a little gesture. “What about you, hm?”

As you talked, I noted that your tiny little crescent of a dimple still appeared when you laugh, you still did that flappy thing with your hand when you didn’t know how to explain something, you still scrunch up your face when you forgot what you were going to say and, god, why do you still manage to make my heart beat faster?

When I finally zoned back into the conversation, I heard you say softly: “Yeah, I mean… if you were straight, you’d probably love him too.”

I shrugged, and forced out a laugh. “Yeah. Probably.”

The silence wasn’t as comfortable as it used to be.

“Hey, is that the shirt that I left at your place the last time I crashed there?”

“I… guess I-” I started but was interrupted by you suddenly spraying something on me. “Dude, what even?

“Hush. It’s my perfume.” You smirked, and put the bottle away. “It’s my shirt, so I’ll put my perfume on it whenever I want to.”

“Of course.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “Hey, I’ve been-”

You picked up your phone. “Yeah, babe, I’m out.” Distinct chatter was heard at the other side of the line. “Oh? Um, I’m not sure…” you covered up the mouthpiece and looked at me apologetically. “I’m so sorry, but if you don’t mind…”

I waved her away. “Go ahead, I gotta head back to tend to my dog anyway. Poor bugger’s left alone in the house. You know how she likes to sleep with me on my bed.”

“I love you!” you hugged me tightly, and turned to go back.

As you walked away hurriedly towards your car, I sat back down on the bench, taking another long drag of the last cigarette.

“Yeah, I love you too.” I murmured, closing my eyes to try to ease the growing migraine, “Maybe a just little too much.”