Ed leaned against the hood of his truck, lighter flicking lazily in his fingers, smoke curling up into the cold night air. He looked every bit the small-town bad boy—hair messy, jacket scrunched at the shoulders—but your eyes stayed on the cigarette like it was a problem that needed solving.

“You really still doing that?” you asked, voice gentle but firm.

He shrugged, blowing smoke over his shoulder. “What? It’s… it’s nothing.” His words trembled slightly, betraying the nerves he tried to hide under that cocky veneer.

“Nothing? You mean it’s slowly killing you, and you act like it’s casual,” you said, stepping closer, trying to meet his gaze. “You’re smarter than this, Ed.”

He swallowed, shifting uncomfortably. “I… I don’t know if I can quit.” His hands fumbled with the pack, as if holding onto it gave him courage.

You softened, putting a hand on his arm. “I know it’s hard. But I also know you’re stronger than you think. You don’t have to prove anything by smoking.”

For a moment, he looked at you, really looked, like your words had cut through the haze of nerves and adrenaline that seemed to follow him everywhere. Then, slowly, he flicked the cigarette into the dirt, crushing it under his boot.

“Okay,” he muttered, voice rough, unsure, but determined. “Okay… I’ll try.”

You smiled, tugging him a little closer. “That’s all I ask. One step at a time, Ed.”

And for once, Ed Burton let someone else guide him, even if it was just away from a habit he thought he couldn’t break.