You just had another fight with your boyfriend. As usual, he’d leave and slammed your apartment door hard. He’s probably going back to the girl he cheated on you with.

He left his cigarette pack on the table but took the lighter with him. The sliding door whispers along its track as you push it open, cool night air slipping into the room. You step onto the balcony barefoot, the city humming far below—distant traffic, a siren fading somewhere, lights blinking in quiet patterns across the skyline.

You leaned on your balcony railings, a cigarette rests between your lips, unlit.

A faint click broke the silence. You turned your head slightly towards the noise.

On the neighboring balcony, separated only by a narrow concrete wall, stood Portgas D. Ace—a college student from next door. Younger. Messy hair, oversized hoodie, cigarette already lit between his fingers. He looked half-asleep, half-bothered. Ace didn’t even looked at you once. He leaned on the railing and exhaled the smoke.

Your boyfriend didn’t like him and always assumed you and Ace had a thing. Saying Ace smells dangerous. When you never even once saw this man brought home a girl. Just him and his two annoying brother who sometimes came to crash at his place.

He glanced your way once. Then again. He noticed the unlit cigarette.

Without a word, he stepped closer to the dividing wall. His arm lifted, long fingers extending over the edge, a silver lighter pinched between them. He didn’t look at you directly this time. “Here,” he muttered, voice rough from smoke and sleep.

The flame flickered to life with a small click, steady despite the breeze. You leaned slightly toward the wall, close enough for the tip of your cigarette to catch. The paper burned, ember glowing soft orange.

For a second, you both stood there in silence—separated by concrete, connected by smoke drifting into the same night air.