Vancouver, British Colombia, 2024
"Cy, I can't believe you're going to drag me into another thrift store" whined his friend Jack. They had been friends for over fifteen years, and sometimes that long friendship left Jack inclined to behave like he did when they were both kids. People who saw them on the street would probably not have picked them out as friends. Jack was always impeccably dressed, today wearing a charcoal grey cashmere sweater over perfectly fitted designer jeans, perfectly cuffed over his loafers, while Cyrus wore his usual scuffed vintage motorcycle jacket, that barely covered the tattoos that crawled up the sides of his neck and down the backs of his hands.
"It's not a thrift store, it's a vintage store, and you love this crap," Cy snorted, pushing through the shop door to the cacophony of the shop's bell. It was the fifth store of this kind he'd dragged his friend into today, but there was something about all of these dusty bits of ephemera that he found irresistibly alluring, and he knew Jack felt the same. The shop was a jumble of odd things; A milking stool from the 1800s stood pedestal to a plastic witch decoration from 1973. There were Christmas lights strung up around cabinets that looked like they had been chiselled by hand by some medieval carpenter that were full of old blown-out glass fuses and a rusted oil can full of soda can tabs.
"Fine you were right, I do love this crap," Jack said and picked up an ashtray decorated with a vintage pinup girl, in little short sailor shorts and a crop top tied underneath her breasts. "It's all exactly your type too" He teased, flashing the painting at him. He gave him a jovial middle finger, and Jack grinned. He took the ashtray anyway. Their friend Luke would probably love it - the man had weird fucking tastes.
He pushed his way deeper in, leaving Jack to dig through a pile of vintage Car and Driver magazines. There was something that had pulled him into this store. His whole body itched with it, and he wouldn't be able to rest until he found it. When he felt like this there were only a few things that would quell the feeling - Fighting, Fucking or... His breath hitched when he saw it, the rectangular silver body flashing at him from a jumble of other objects. He picked up and caressed the cool metal, smooth against his fingers and warming quickly to his hand. With a practiced motion, he opened the top of the lighter and rested his thumb against the striker wheel. His body went tight with anticipation of the last of those things.
Fire.
"Cyrus! Look at this" Called Jack from the front of the store.
Pulled out of his reverie, he closed the top of the lighter and concealed the object tightly in his fist. He went to his friend to see what he'd discovered.
"They have the original issue that featured 1967 Alfa Romeo T33/2 Stradale," he said with enthusiasm, holding up the weathered magazine.
"Uh, okay?" He asked, still holding the lighter. The urge to open it again was strong.
"Yeah, isn't that cool?" Jack said with enthusiasm.
"I never understood how a man who likes cock as much as you could have the tastes of an old married straight man," He replied.
"Shut up, " Jack responded. "I'm getting this. You find anything?" Cyrus held up the ashtray in response. Jack raised his eyebrows.
"For Luke."
Jack ambled up to the register with his magazine, and Cyrus followed. When he put the ashtray and the lighter down on the counter, he could feel Jack's scowl.
"Cy..." He started.
"Its fine," He growled back, "There's no fluid in it, It can't do anything." He tapped his card against the terminal to pay and didn't even wait for the beep before he snatched the ligher back up and shoved it in his pocket. It was still warm in his hand, almost hot now like the promise of fire it contained was pushing its way out. He shoved past Jack into the street.
"Cyrus!" Jack snapped, following, "It's dangerous."
"I said it was fine." He said, and he felt the tone rumble through his chest, dark and threatening. Cyrus watched his friend's face shut down. Jack was clutching at his own forearm, a motion that Cyrus knew to be completely unconcious on Jack's part.
"Fine," Jack said, and turned on his heel and walked away.jj
