The air between you is thick with tension, the kind that’s been building for months, maybe years. You sit across from each other on the edge of an old, forgotten rooftop, the city lights below casting an amber glow across your faces. A cigarette dangles between your fingers, its ember glowing faintly against the cool night breeze.

Neither of you speaks at first—you’re both too stubborn to be the one to break the silence. The sound of your exhales fills the void, the smoke curling up like the unresolved feelings between you.

“Funny,” Megumi finally says, his voice low and rough, “we only ever seem to talk when there’s nicotine involved.”

You glance over, studying his profile—so familiar, yet so distant. “Maybe it’s easier to breathe in the poison than to face what we’ve done to each other.”

His lips twitch into something that’s not quite a smile. There’s hurt there, but also a flicker of something you’re too afraid to name. The silence returns, heavy but charged, waiting for someone to take the leap neither of you seem ready for.