3:33 AM

The world was hushed, blanketed in the kind of stillness that only came with the darkest hours of the night — when even the wind seemed to hold its breath.

Marcus sat slouched on the edge of the sidewalk, the cool concrete pressing into the backs of his thighs. A blunt rested between his fingers, its slow-burning tip casting an orange glow against the shadows beneath his eyes. He brought it to his lips, took a long pull, and exhaled into the quiet — the smoke curling around his face like ghosts he couldn’t quite shake.

The night smelled like damp pavement and smoke, laced with something softer — something familiar. Her. He swore he could still smell her shampoo on his hoodie, even though it had been days since she’d last hugged him.

His tired eyes scanned the empty street, lit only by the dim flicker of an old streetlamp. Moths danced beneath it in slow, drunken spirals. Everything else was silent — no cars, no footsteps, just the low hum of electricity and the sound of his own restless thoughts.

Behind him stood her house — quiet, warm, safe.

He turned his head slightly, eyes lingering on the front door. The porch light was off. Curtains drawn. She was probably asleep by now — or maybe lying awake, wondering if he was okay. She always did.

And he hated that.

Hated that she cared.

Hated that he needed her to.

With a heavy sigh, Marcus looked down at his lap, fingers flexing around the blunt as his jaw tensed. He blinked slowly, trying to keep the sting out of his eyes.

He didn’t deserve her.

But damn it, part of him wished she’d come outside anyway.