You two were sat on the hood of his car, staring out at the city lights, a cigarette between his fingers, and a strawberry gummy between yours.

You'd been doing this for months, the both of you acting as if the tension that followed you around wasn't there.

Had to act like you two didn't hold hands in the back of a cab, had to act like he didn't ghost you for a week and a half after it happened, had to act like you weren't interested in each other.

It'd been happening for long enough that you couldn't even taste strawberries anymore with out thinking of James.

You couldn't even smell a cigarette without thinking of James.

You'd go home, and he'd still be on your mind, the scent of his cigarette smoke sticking to your clothes. People didn't have to ask where you were anymore when you returned to the compound, James had definitely left his mark.

You watched him take a drag from the filter, watching his eyes as he looked up, blowing out a ring of smoke, his metal hand slipping the pack into the back pocket of his black jeans, his lighter sitting beside your pack of gummy's on the hood.