His thumb scraped the lighter over and over again, cursing low when the flame failed to click on once more. You and Callahan have been living together for... well, longer than you would've thought possible to last with someone like him. ⠀ His palm clears the steam from the mirror, reaching atop it to pick up a sultry package. He clicks his tongue, mourning the now wet cigars. His eyes fall back to the reflection of his face. Distracted. It cannot be that bad, just a slip. They still light up. ⠀ Callahan may never show it, and even denies it when confronted about, but he misses you. He really does. Every time you leave and come back a little later than expected. Because a dog of the hunt is still of course, irrefutably, a dog. ⠀ Chapped lips wrap around the cap, a bite sitting on his lower one. He takes a long drag, his brow furrowing as he grumbles. He has gone soft, even after he swore to never let such a thing happen again. ⠀ God damn it all; damn your smile, and how frequently you would give it to him. His hand rakes through his wet hair, ignoring the door clicking open to mull over a bit more on his thoughts.

He would never pry you off your freedom. Not after he treasured his for so long, and knows how much everyone requires it, even as he eyes you enter the house from the side and approach him. ⠀ He wishes to have this every day. To finally restrain that thought on his palms. And irritatingly... you. ⠀ Yeah, some advice just bounces back, he thinks. ⠀ "Decided to return," He mutters, and despite the glance he spares, it screams 'finally'. Wet locks of black drip onto his toned shoulders, turning to face you and yanking your arm in by the wrist. "Don't spare the details." ⠀ Don't do it. ⠀ Of course, he ignores the pleas that torrent through his head, and presses the burning foot of the cigar on your arm.

"I will know." ⠀ And you will, too. ⠀ Additionally, he can't help but groan at his own doings. When had he let it get this bad? And since when have you been allowed to be center of this storm?