Just what it says on the tin.

“Would you hold me, Larry?” The kid’s voice trembled. His teeth chattered with the heavy sound of bone on bone. He was shuddering, pale and in shock. The question hit Larry hard and heavy. He found himself nodding without thinking.

“Sure,” Larry said. “Sure.” He slid over close, winding his arm under Orange’s neck and patting his chest with his other hand.“Look at you, kid. You’re shivering. Whatcha shivering for? You cold?”

Orange shook his head in a short, tense movement that went against the violent twinges running through his body. He swallowed thickly and Larry could see the tension in his jaw.

“You want a cigarette?” Larry said and Orange nodded.

He found a Red Apple in his own pocket and put it between the kid’s graying lips. His lighter had gone missing that morning so he patted the Orange’s pockets until he found a silver zippo with some fluid left in it. Everywhere he wasn’t bloody Orange’s skin was covered in a sickly, cold flop sweat.

Orange hissed with pain, dropping the cigarette from his lips. “I’m sorry,” he stuttered, turning his face toward Larry’s chest. Larry glanced down and watched Orange fumbling, taking and retaking his hold on the grip of his gun

“It’s okay,” Larry said soothingly. “Hey, it’s okay.” He picked the cigarette up and stuck it in his own mouth. He could taste blood on the filter. “I got it.” He lit it one handed, put the lighter down carefully on the floor and took a few deep drags. The kid couldn’t hold a cigarette. The kid could barely keep from biting off his own tongue. Larry took another long drag, held it in his lungs and then turned his face to Orange and roughly pressed his open mouth to him.

He breathed out slow and solid and he felt Orange breath in, his chest rising steadily. In the swirl of smoke he could feel the very tip of Orange’s tongue pulsing against his bottom lip. When his breath ran out he lingered for a long moment against Orange’s lips, smelling his blood and his fear. He brought his hand to Orange’s hair and patted it back, the hot cherry of the cigarette hovering over his fingers.

“That better?” he asked. Orange blew smoke out in a long sigh. Larry felt his hand down against Larry’s leg, pawing at his leg and folding the fabric of the suit between the backs of his fingers.

“No,” Orange said and smiled, letting out a gasping little laugh. He lolled his head over, pushing his face against Larry’s chest and murmured, “Thank you.” Larry pressed his palm against the kid’s cheek, rubbing the skin on the side of his face. He looked down at the blood pooling on the floor between them and then Pink kicked in the warehouse door.