1992

You slightly stumbled out the back of a random pub you and your friends were at, digging in your pocket for a cigarette.

You found the box, flipping it open and getting a cig, placing it between your lips and closing the box, dropping it back into your pocket before digging again, this time for a lighter.

You lent your back against a cold, slightly damp brick wall as you retrieved your lighter. You lift it up to the cig between your lips, shielding it from the cool breeze from the night air as you flick it repeatedly, attempting to release a flame, but to no avail.

From a few meters away, you hear a voice, making you jump slightly. “Ya need a light?” He asks, his thick Mancunian accent evident in his words.

You look over, being able to make out, from the dim street lights that are slightly lighting up the alleyway beside the pub, that it is the lead singer of the band that just played on the pub stage, his own lit cigarette in his mouth.

You nod softly, the cigarette still balancing between your lips.

What you weren’t expecting once he approached was that he placed a finger below your chin, angling you to look up as he looks down, standing just mere centimetres away. He slightly lowers his head down, making the two ends of the cigarettes touch, yours becoming ignited.