Every time you kissed, he was left with a smokey, bittersweet taste in his mouth.

Follo didn’t like how you smoked. It wasn’t pleasant, nor did he think it ‘healed’ you in any way. Despite this, he kept quiet— every time.

You sat perched up on the windowsill, the moonlight dawning upon your figure. Follo stood next to you, admiring how gorgeous you looked. He smiled softly. He could never stop loving you.

The wind brushed through your hair, and you put your hand into your pocket, before pulling out another cigarette and your lighter. Follo’s eyes darted to the small stick between your fingers, his lips forming a line.

“I thought you said that you’d take a break,” He said, “You swore by that, remember?”

You sighed. “I can’t help it,” you replied, tone of voice dropping. “I’m sorry.”

You stood up, giving him a hug; his arms found his way around your waist, resting against the small of your back. His head rested against your shoulder, his face burying into your hair and breathing in your sweet scent.

“It’s okay.” He muttered, but he knew deep down your addiction wouldn’t quite stop, no matter what he said.

You lit the cigarette from behind, the familiar smokey smell filling Follo’s nostrils.

“Want some?” You asked, breathing out a trail of smoke from your mouth.