The night air is crisp and biting, slicing through your jacket and making your skin prickle. The wind howls through the skeletal branches overhead, rattling leaves and sending icy gusts that make you shiver involuntarily. You and Billy are practically frozen, yet neither of you seems inclined to leave the patch of cracked sidewalk you’ve claimed. The streetlight above flickers slightly, casting long, jittering shadows that stretch like dark fingers across the pavement.

Billy flips open his lighter with a practiced flick. The flame bursts to life, small but insistent, and he brings it to the tip of his cigarette. The first inhale draws smoke deep into his lungs, the glow of the ember reflecting in his eyes. For a moment, there’s something in that gaze—something almost human in its warmth, or maybe just mischief—something that makes you pause and notice him more than usual.

You shift slightly, tucking your hands deeper into your pockets. “Cold enough for you?” you ask, trying for lightness but feeling the chill gnawing at your fingers.

Billy exhales, smoke curling lazily into the night. “Freezing,” he admits, his voice low and rough, carrying just enough for you to hear over the gusting wind. He tilts his head toward you, flicking ashes onto the sidewalk. “But… somehow worth it.”

You raise an eyebrow, letting a small smile slip past your chapped lips. “Worth it, huh? For standing here in a wind tunnel?”

“Not the wind,” Billy says, the smirk tugging a little higher. “This.” He gestures vaguely between the two of you, the cigarette still glowing like a tiny sun in the dark. “You, me… whatever this is.”

You feel your chest tighten, a warmth creeping up your spine that has nothing to do with the cigarette. There’s a comfort here, one that doesn’t need words. The wind gusts again, louder this time, rattling the streetlight overhead. You glance up and back at Billy, noticing how the shadows seem to cling to him, how the light catches the curve of his jaw.

Silence falls again, but it’s not heavy. It’s the kind of quiet that feels full, as though the spaces between words hold their own language. You lean against the cold metal of a nearby pole, letting the wind tug at your jacket and at your thoughts.

Finally, Billy exhales another plume of smoke and tilts the cigarette toward you. “You want a hit of this?” His tone is low, casual, but there’s a small weight behind it—an invitation, a challenge, a gesture of trust all at once.

You study the cigarette for a moment. The ember glows like a heartbeat in the night, warm against the darkness. Billy watches you, not pressing, just waiting. “Maybe later,” you say softly, your breath misting in the cold.

He nods, a slow, knowing movement. “Fair enough.” He takes another drag, holding it a little longer this time, and you watch the smoke swirl up into the black sky, twisting and curling like thoughts you don’t say out loud.

The wind gusts again, rattling the leaves. You shiver and tuck your hands further into your pockets, glancing at Billy. “You always this… mysterious?”

Billy chuckles, the sound low and rough, and exhales smoke that drifts lazily toward the streetlight. “Maybe. Depends on who’s asking.”

You let out a small laugh, the sound bright against the night, and suddenly, the cold isn’t quite as sharp. The world is dark, quiet, and endless, but for this moment, with Billy beside you, it feels… right.