here you and scaramouche, your boyfriend, were sitting on the terrace of your apartment, watching the volleyball court below the apartment. It was late afternoon, the sky was beautiful. Typical Sunday. He had a habit of smoking, but you didn't like it. He didn't force you, after all he respected you deeply.

He smoked his cigarette, putting out the cigarette butt on his thigh. He loved doing this. "Sunday afternoon is so... good." he speaks softly, taking a drag on his cigarette and releasing the smoke.