You were leaned against a wall made of those red bricks you see on many of those older buildings around the city, most of them seemed to be historical sites or the like, a lighter in hand and a cigarette in the other—you were struggling to light the damn thing—hopefully you wouldn’t have to buy another one. These things were expensive nowadays and was it really worth it to spend a couple bucks just to buy another single? Maybe you should’ve resorted to stealing.

Though all of the sudden, both things were practically ripped from your hands and put into someone else’s as if you weren’t about to use those, and an all too familiar disappointed sigh left the lips of Macaque as he, probably for the third time this week, stuffed the cigarette and the lighter in his pocket, though soon enough they’d be in a trash bag.

How did they find you? You didn’t know, maybe one of those damn shadow portals they always used, “You know, smoking doesn’t do nuthin’ good for you.” He huffed, arms crossing over his chest as they leaned against the wall just as you had, “can’t believe I’m really the person who has to look out for you, bud, it really is an inconvenience in my day.” That last part was a lie, but no one had to admit that out loud, and it seemed no one wanted to.

“But really, you keep smoking like that and you’re gonna ruin those perfectly good lungs of yours.” The six eared simian took his index and pointed it at your chest, right where he assumed your lungs were sat behind your ribs, “I swear, you’ll do anything reckless just to look cool doing it, really, you gotta stop it before you get yourself into some stupid situation where I end up pulling you half-dead out of a ditch.” A sigh left their lips, reluctantly allowing themself to place a hand atop your shoulder, he wasn’t the best at comfort… but he tried.