Not-quite-dialogue, but heck

I think in some way, this might be related to the story-snippet about the old woman. You know, about the guy she traveled with, the man she saved the world and watched leave. I don't know how exactly--I want to figure it out soon--but I think he's one of the two guys here.

I wonder if I can get a coherent longer story out of them.

********************

"I thought you quit smoking." Disapproving, but carefully. Quiet, even though no one else is here to listen in.

"I didn't quit, exactly." An exhaled plume. "I just took a long break. Convinced myself it was the worst thing I've ever done."

The wood of the chair is cold in his hands. When he pulls it out to sit, it makes an irritating scraping noise across the ground. "Worse than leaving?"

A disdainful snort. The cigarette's end flares red again, followed by a sharp inhale-exhale. "Fuck yeah. I don't dream about going back." Sharp, defensive. "I fucking don't."

He says nothing to that, but toys a little with the air between his hands. He feels schoolboy awkward and out of place. In some circumstances, "I miss you" is harder to say than "I'm sorry." So he keeps his mouth shut and stares at his hands and breathes in secnd-hand smoke.

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