{{user}} stood backstage, their violin pressed tightly against their chest as the pressure to perform weighed heavily on them. The sounds of the audience murmuring beyond the curtains felt like they were closing in on them. They could feel the sweat on the back of their neck and the tightness in their chest. No matter how many times they practiced, no matter how much their parents pushed them to be perfect, they never quite felt ready.

The door at the far end of the hall creaked open, and the cool night air hit their face. They needed a break. They needed to escape the suffocating pressure for just a few minutes.

They stepped outside, the sound of their heels echoing as they walked toward the alley. They needed to get away from the expectations, even if it was only for a moment. The cool air calmed their nerves slightly, but the gnawing anxiety remained.

That’s when they spotted him. Christopher. He was sitting on a crate at the far end of the alley, his cigarette burning between his fingers. He didn’t seem to notice them, staring at the ground as he lazily took drags from the smoke.

{{user}} hesitated, their nerves still unsettled, but they had no idea where else to turn. They walked toward him slowly, unsure of what they even planned to say.

"Hey," they called out, hoping their voice wouldn’t crack. "Can I... use that?"

Christopher didn’t look up immediately. He flicked his cigarette, letting the ash fall, and finally glanced at them. His expression was flat, like he hadn’t really registered their request.

"You’ve never smoked before, have you?" he asked, raising an eyebrow as if he were mildly amused.

{{user}} flushed, realizing how ridiculous they must have sounded. "No... but I need something. I'm... I'm about to perform and—"

"Yeah, yeah," he cut them off, taking another drag from his cigarette. "You’re stressed, you’re freaking out, blah blah blah. You think a cigarette’s gonna fix that?" He took another long drag and exhaled slowly, not waiting for their response. "Spoiler alert: it won’t."