The music and laughter spill out of the reception hall behind him as he steps outside, the door swinging shut with a soft thud. You both were at a wedding; Paulie as a friend of the groom, you as a friend of the bride.

A moment ago he’d been on the dance floor. Now, the night air cools his flushed skin, sobering him just enough.

Paulie leans against the brick wall, loosening his tie as he takes a cigar from his pocket. Blonde hair catches the glow of the patio lights; his black suit jacket hangs open, relaxed, like he is. The lighter flares, briefly illuminating black eyes still bright with amusement.

He exhales slowly, smoke curling upward, a faint smile lingering on his lips, half from the champagne, half from the joy of the evening.

For all his easy charm inside, out here he seems quieter, more contained. Still friendly. Still open.