“you shouldn’t smoke,” deadlock mutters under her breath.

you’d just completed a mission, and you were taking a breather (or lack thereof) to lean against the railing with a cigarette between two fingers. your thigh had an ugly dark gash across it, but you figured the valorant protocol healers had too much on their plate to attend to such a… minor, matter. so, you chose avoidance— taking drags of the cigarette to numb away the physical pain.

“what was that?” you mumble, glancing at the norwegian operative beside you on the balcony.

“you cannot smoke,” deadlock repeats, fingers reaching up to pluck the nicotine vessel from your lips.

“h— wait, hey—” you protest, leaning on your uninjured leg to reach for the cigarette back.

“i said no,” she scowls, stamping it out with her foot.

you frown, eyebrows stitching together in irritation while your lips close around nothing.

“deadlock. iselin.”

you two were never close enough for either of you to use the other’s real name, but now seems like a good time.

“it’s bad for you. i don’t like that you do it all the time,” she continues.

“don’t act like you’ve never done it before.”

and you were right, she did use to rely on smoking. but she’s quit now, it’s been a few years since she last picked up a cigarette. you were getting on her last nerve, forgive a woman for looking out for her teammate.

“that was in the past. i quit. you should quit too,” deadlock mutters.