Like Like You're Dying [Jay/Sleeps]

A smoke? Logan give her a tepid laugh, thinking it through briefly. No, he couldn't. Not with his disease, not with the sorry state of his lungs, the broken rubber heaps in his chest. They wouldn't be able to handle a cigarette. He needed them to stay alive as long as possible. "I can't, sorry," he gave after the dry, embarrassed chuckle, hoping and believing she wouldn't press him about it. He felt like a pussy, and debated explaining why.

That was disappointing. Jane frowned, cocking her head. "What? Are you worried about the nicotine?" Yeah, it gave you cancer, but there was no point living as long as possible if you couldn't enjoy yourself too. It was the reason people ate junk food. The taste was worth shaving a few years off your life that probably would've been miserable anyways. "We don't have to smoke tobacco if that's what you're worried about." She dropped her voice, nudging him with her elbow with a grin. "Or are you just trying to get away from me?"

Whelp. So much for that. He shook his head at her last question, a smile staining his lips like coffee on paper, ugly and unwanted and obviously not intended, covering what was underneath. It faded unnaturally. "I have a disease, a lung disease," he said simply. "It wouldn't be too smart." It was a shitty day that kept getting worse. He hoped it would reach some kind of peak, that it would die down. He hoped to find that with Jane. He didn't want to be left alone to think.

The world around her seemed to freeze. For half a heartbeat, time was suspended. She could feel a chill trace up her spine like an icy finger, and Jane craned her neck, still smiling like she hadn't comprehended it. With a turn of her heel, she glanced to the floor, chewing on her lip, before turning back toward him with a small bitter laugh. "You're not messing with me, are you?" she asked in a light tone, but it couldn't conceal the sincerity underneath. "I guess you're not." Anybody could see that. It was written across his face, across every movement. Jane slipped her hands into her pockets and turned her head away. "It's just funny. I started smoking for the reason you're not."

Man, this entire day was turning out way too heavy. Wasn't it a little overbearing to reveal all this personal crap?

Logan shook his head at the question, tensing at her last statement. He knew she had something he knew she had from the time she almost died playing a game. It was funny; someone who was at Beata to live being friends with someone who was at Beata because she was tired of living. Would Jane switch places with him? Would he let her? He didn't want to think about that. He felt selfish.
"Do you want to die that bad?" Before he knew it, they were outside, and he was kicking a pebble along the narrow walkway, one he did not remember picking up. He asked this as nonchalantly as possible, like he didn't care what her answer was. In many ways he didn't. Logan thought he should be mad at her, having something he'd give anything to have. But he wasn't. He wasn't even irked.

She was glad to be out of that building. Staying any longer, trapped in those brick prison walls, and she would've suffocated. The fresh air cleared her head as they walked. "It wasn't because I wanted to die." Did they even know where they were walking, or were they both following the other person? Two dead kids walking, wandering through the school grounds like ghosts. Jane watched the pebble skitter across the concrete and get swallowed by the grass. "There isn't a cure for what I had. If I was just going to die anyways, then what did I have to worry about?" She grinned and glanced up at the sky. "'Live like you're dying,' right? My entire life was gone. There wasn't anything ahead of me."

But that wasn't what he was asking, was it?


___
<_< >_> NOTHING TO SEE HERE

Logan gave the pebble one huge kick, and it slapped hard against the pavement, cannonballing off the concrete and over the road, past the road, into the field across the road. "Well," he said, watching it fly, all the way across the Atlantic Ocean, to France. "I need all the minutes I can get. I'm not dying." And in the corkscrew of his body, in the aftermath of his kick, he made a turn to her and smiled. "Come on, let's go somewhere."

And that was that. With one curt deflection, the pebble went shooting through the air like a bullet, arcing and disappearing somewhere in the distance, and the subject was changed like it had never happened. Jane stopped in her tracks and turned on her heel to face him, matching his smile. "And where is somewhere?"

"I was hoping you had the answer." She seemed pretty set on hanging out somewhere. Their corner of the world was a small place, though, and he looked over the campus with puzzlement. He then remembered something; something he found in the woods on a hunt for photography class, in an old broken hut littered with decades of graffiti. Someone left something, a can, a filled can. It was as if they got started by someone, it having been left on its side against the wall. It made a good picture in the ominous house, of course, an A- picture, but he had to keep a souvenir. "My room," he said, and something fluttered in his heart with adrenaline, a devious excitement, "I've got something, come on." He walked backwards to coax her, and picked up his pace.

Of course she had an answer, but she got the feeling he wouldn't like any of her first choices. A smoke, a drink, a tab or a pill or a movie. She wouldn't have minded a visit to the lake, even in this autumn chill, but he spoke before she could suggest any of this. His answer made her raise an eyebrow. "You gonna buy me dinner first?" she asked, only half-jokingly, and followed him as he began to walk again.

"Maybe later." When Logan arrived at the Spring Dorms, he let Jane in, holding open the heavy door before quickly going to his first-floor room. A jingle of the keys, and he opened it up, a little hesitant and hoping none of his roommates were there. He didn't want them to get the wrong idea about Jane. At least at that point in time, where all he was doing was fetching something.

"Wait here," he said, holding up a finger and backing up for a moment to his room, turning on his heel to complete the rest of the way. There was the sound of ruffling coming from his room as he searched through his stuff, a brief crash of something larger falling, but he assured he was fine with a small shout. Finally, he returned, shaking his prize: a can of black spray paint.

"You know how to use one of these?" he asked with a grin. The can was unlabeled, adding to its shadiness, but he didn't care about any of that. What were they going to mark? A building? The Headmaster's car?

Well, there went that idea. She wouldn't have minded a restaurant date, or just a quick drop-in at the bakery for some ice cream. Or hell, he could've microwaved a Hot Pocket and they could've eaten ice cream on his kitchen floor. Popping some pills and chasing it with vodka would've counted as a romantic dinner as far as she was concerned. Jane was just looking for a distraction, but if he could provide, then she supposed she couldn't complain. It was better than skulking off to her room alone.

Before long, they were there. Spring. That was a bit surprising. Most of the Spring-scoring answers on the placement test had struck her as stuffy, grounded, organized. Logan was too spontaneous, like he had a few screws loose. Maybe there'd been some kind of fluke, or maybe she just didn't know him well as she thought she did. In either case, she knew where he slept now. Jane stopped outside his door, glancing around as he went rifling around in his room, making a ruckus in the process.

He was back before she could start getting impatient, with an unmarked dirty can in his hand. Spray paint. "Well, I can't promise that I'm Michaelangelo, but I can hold it without spraying myself in the eyes."

"You don't need to be." Logan looked out the window, to the orange wisps of sunlight cut against the blinds. "Let's make our mark on this school. Then I'll take you up on that dinner." He looked down at the can as if it were some dangerous substance, gripping it lightly in his fingers. He'd had it for a while, and had always wanted to do this. No matter what happened, he'd live forever there.

Jane gave a smile, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "That sounds like a plan to me." She turned and started to head out the door, glancing behind her to make sure he was following. "What are we waiting for? You lead the way."

Logan looked around, realizing how big the can was. "We need to hide it," he said with a nervous smile, a slightly timid wash as he tried to put it under his hoodie comfortably. When he was able to cradle it with his hands in his pockets, he finally lead, but fell back to lock the door. When they walked downstairs, he tensed up in the eye of the security officer, but he seemed bad at his job, and turned the page of his magazine with a lethargic yawn.

Logan's face relaxed, and he showed excitement in his smirk, lips parted slightly as he took time to say: "Where do we use this thing?" It had warmed under his jacket, the metal pressed in foggy heat. Was this the kind of thing that exploded if it got too hot? He hoped not.

His nervousness was hilarious. Jane just gave him a sardonic teasing glance as they walked down the stairs with the can tucked into his hoodie, grinning as they slipped past a Guardian and back out onto campus. She glanced up to the sky in thought, amusement playing across her features. "No place in mind?" she asked. "Take a risk. Go big. Be ambitious." Jane fell in closer beside Logan, brushing shoulder to shoulder with a smile, and leaned in. "How about inside?" she said in a hushed tone. "Lockers. Classrooms. Offices. Hallways. Anywhere. How about it?"