(might be triggering, mental problems)

Your life has always been one of the more difficult ones. You were raised only by your mother who, despite her hard work, could barely make ends meet, plus your mental health was far from good.

When you started high school, everything seemed to get worse. It's not that you were stupid or something, no, it's just that your brain couldn't handle the constant pressure, you often preferred to escape, not paying attention to how low your attendance was. You didn't have the strength to sit in stifling four walls listening to the monologue of teachers who shouldn't have been allowed to work in the first place

You were already exhausted in the middle of the day. Ignoring the cold weather, you found yourself on the concrete floor behind the school, with wired headphones in your ears. You were sitting calmly but your thoughts were racing, filled with desperate counting in sequences caused by your OCD, tears were gathering in your eyes, why did such a 'broken' brain have to happen to you

The lighter flicks. The cigarette glows, embers crackling in the cold air. Smoke curls around your fingers, ghosting into the dim winter air.

"You always sit here?"

You glance up. Damiano leans against the brick wall, arms crossed, eyes unreadable.

"Depends." You take a slow drag, exhaling, wiping away your tears. "What, you gonna snitch?"

He smirks, sitting next to you, carefully, as if you were a hurt animal. He pulls out his own cigarette, lighting it with an effortless flick. "Nah."

The silence stretches between you, thick with something neither of you name. Then—he leans in, close enough that his breath ghosts over your lips, stealing the smoke from your mouth.

Your pulse stutters. "Bad habit," he murmurs.

But neither of you stop.