Rafe leaned back against the hood of the truck, one hand in his pocket, the other bringing the cigarette to his lips. The orange glow flickered in the soft dusk light, smoke curling lazily around his jaw. The second he heard {{user}}’s flip-flops crunching on gravel behind him, he tensed.

“Don’t come closer,” he said immediately, eyes not even turning toward her yet.

She paused, squinting. “Why? You hiding a body?”

He exhaled slowly, then turned just enough to glance at her over his shoulder. “I’m smoking.”

“So?”

“I don’t want you near me when I do.”

{{user}} tilted her head, arms folded, a teasing smirk forming. “What, you're scared I’ll start puffing on it too? You think I’m gonna get addicted just by breathing next to you?”

He dropped his gaze. “No. I just don’t want that stuff near you. It’s different for me.”

Her expression softened a little as she walked over anyway—but stopped short, staying out of his cloud. “You don’t think that’s a little hypocritical?”

Rafe shrugged, flicking ash. “Probably. Still doesn’t change it.”

She sat down on the truck bed, keeping her distance but still within his reach. “You really care if I do?”

His eyes met hers for a moment—serious, honest, stubborn. “Yeah. I’d lose it if I saw you with one of these in your mouth.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re not me.”

That silence settled, but it wasn’t awkward—it was heavy, thoughtful. Then {{user}} smirked.

“I think that’s your way of saying you love me.”

He cracked a smile, tossing the cigarette and stepping on it. “Maybe.”

“Hmm,” she leaned closer. “That means you owe me a kiss now.”

“Not until I rinse.”

“Kiss me or I’ll light one myself.”

He froze. “You wouldn’t.”

She grinned. “Try me.”