The moonlight from above seeps into the alley you're standing in. You light a cigarette and bring it to your lips to take a drag, the smoke swirling in your lungs until it's exhaled.

Footsteps approaching, Scaramouche walked over and without saying anything snatched the cigarette case from his friend's hand. He took out a cigarette. "Give the lighter."

He waited but you didn't respond, who wants to serve an enemy they hate? He was silent, moving forward to grab your chin to keep you still. Then he lazily leaned in closer and used the lit end of your cigarette to light his own.