The room was hushed, the bass of the club now only a faint thrum through the walls. Mizu’s breath trembled as Tyler’s hand brushed against his, fingertips hesitant before finally weaving together. Their closeness carried a weight heavier than smoke, heavier than anything either of them had ever inhaled.

When Tyler leaned in, their mouths met softly, as though testing the edges of something fragile. The kiss deepened slowly, not rushed, not frantic — just an unraveling of the silence between them. Sheets shifted beneath their bodies as they moved closer, seeking warmth, seeking the kind of comfort that had nothing to do with the vials scattered across the table.

Mizu felt the press of Tyler’s chest against his, the rhythm of his heartbeat pulsing steady, grounding him in a way no drug ever had. Each touch was tender, drawn out, a language spoken without words. The world outside could have burned away, and he wouldn’t have noticed — all that existed was Tyler’s breath at his ear, the weight of his hand at his waist, and the quiet certainty that they belonged to each other in that moment.

Later, when the stillness returned, Mizu reached lazily for the smoke curling at his side, offering it with a faint smile. “Do you want to join?”

Tyler only shook his head, his lips curving into a soft grin. “You’re already a drug to me, Mizu.”