You stuck a cigarette between your teeth, searching around for a lighter. Patting yourself down, you pulled out a box of small matches that have been in your jacket for months, forgetting about them after wearing the coat once. Lighting the match and raising it underneath your cigarette, a hand suddenly reached over your shoulder and snuffed the flame out.

"Don't. Just— don't."

A bland voice grumbled from behind you. When you turned around, you were greeted with the white mask you grew accustomed to. BP stared at you, his cold blue eyes piercing through your own with subtle irritation.

"You know I hate the smell of smoke. And even more when I see you being the one to do it."