This one wasn't a /tr/ request but the idea came from one. It's short and not exactly cheerful, but y'know.

Disclaimer: Not mine in any way, shape or form.

Volkner has started smoking again. He knows that he shouldn't but he does it anyway, he needs the nicotine the same way a Magikarp needs water. Or, he thinks he needs the nicotine and that is enough of an excuse for him. He sits alone down by the docks and lights up a cigarette from the crumpled softpack in his pocket. He has decided that he will never buy softpacks again even though they are cooler; he sat on his jacket earlier in the day and has to smoke crushed cigarettes until he finishes the pack.

There is nothing cool about crushed cigarettes, Volkner knows this. It's why he's sitting alone at the docks chain smoking his way through the remaining twelve of them. After five, he's starting to get a headache from the nicotine rush. There's no reason to stop though. The sun is going down, the air is warm, he is happy smoking his crushed cigarettes alone.

He lights the sixth and inhales deeply. He coughs. He has picked a very bad time to ruin over half a pack of cigarettes, he's had a cold for a week and his throat may not hold out much longer. He hasn't been able to speak clearly for days as it is. Flint would laugh at him mercilessly if he could; Volkner is thankful that Flint is too busy to call this week. He isn't in the mood for their usual banter. That's why he's started smoking again.

Volkner quit smoking a month ago. He quit six weeks before that, and then another fortnight before that again. He's lost track of how many times he's quit this year. It can't be more than seven, it's only March. Volkner quits smoking, on average, three times a month. He rarely lasts four days without a cigarette. He knows that he is not addicted. He just likes cigarettes.

After the seventh cigarette Volkner is ready for bed. He hasn't felt so calm in months. He has a lot of work to do the next morning but he feels like he could sleep for a week. He needs to repair the mechanics in his Gym, he needs to alter the sequences. Too many trainers are making it through the maze and Volkner isn't always a generous guy. He doesn't like giving out badges; he should, he should enjoy seeing young trainers that can hold their own against him. He has too much work, he is drowning in work, yet he feels calm all the same.

Dusk is closing in fast and Volkner looks up in time to see the lighthouse beacon turn itself on. He needs to change the bulb soon. He uses matches to light his cigarettes because it feels more personal; each one is sacrificing itself for the greater good. He also knows that he looks much cooler when he uses matches, and matches are much easier to explain during the periods where he has quit smoking. He uses them for lighting the stove. He uses them for lighting candles when the power goes out. He uses them to melt solder when he is too lazy to go to the tool box. He uses them to look cool.

The ninth cigarette brings on a headache. Volkner has not smoked so many consecutive cigarettes since his eighteenth birthday. The memory makes him smile; able to buy his own cigarettes for the first time, he smoked most of the pack and felt no consequences. Everyone is invincible at eighteen. Years later though, Volkner knows that chain smoking is not good for his health. He doesn't like being so relaxed in public. It ruins his image.

The headache forces Volkner to reach into his other pocket for painkillers. He carries them around for the same reason his pockets are always housing stray wires or small tools; if something is broken he will try to fix it. When he tries to fix it, he usually gets shocked. The painkillers are necessary. He knocks them back dry and takes another drag on his cigarette. He likes the flavour of the smoke. It reminds him of something but he does not know what, he will never know.

Finally, Volkner only has two crushed cigarettes left and he is starting to feel better. Tomorrow, he will buy another pack, one made of still cardboard rather than paper so that his cigarettes are safe. He finally stands up, the eleventh cigarette hanging from his lips. He lights it and sucks in the smoke. He coughs loudly, expertly, without having to remove the cigarette from his mouth. Volkner has mastered speaking with a cigarette between his lips; most people would mumble. Volkner is better than most people.

It is only a short walk back to the Gym and Volkner has told himself that he will not smoke inside. He will not smoke casually inside. He will, however, amend that rule as he feels fit; he smokes inside when he has only a cigarette for breakfast. In the bath. While he repairs his Gym traps. After sex. When he is so angry that he can't face the world. When he absolutely needs a cigarette. Volkner is flexible with his rules. The final crushed cigarette, the twelfth in the chain, he will smoke that inside.

The final cigarette is smoked in the kitchen. Volkner's jacket is tossed casually over the back of a chair. He sits alone at the small table and lights his final cigarette. He throws his matches onto the table and slouches down in his chair, it is easier to stare up at the smoke that way. He loves the patterns. He can only see them indoors, under the steady hum of the electric lighting and safe from the breeze; the slightest wind and the smoke separates, vanishing. Indoors, in his kitchen, the smoke lingers and Volkner smiles.

He is going to buy another pack of cigarettes in the morning and quit at lunchtime. Volkner follows patterns with much more regularity than the smoke from his cigarettes. He knows he will give in again by dinner time. He will start smoking again because he needs to; Volkner likes cigarettes too much to ever give them up.