The room is quiet now, the kind of silence that only comes after everything else has been said and done. You lie there, tangled in the sheets, the weight of him still pressing against you in memory. Barty moves with that same sly grace even now, lighting a cigarette by the window. The smoke curls up, twisting into the shadows like a ghost of the chaos he always brings.

“Want one?” he asks, voice low, teasing, as though offering more than just a cigarette. You shake your head, smiling faintly, but the corners of your lips twitch because somehow, even in his casual cruelty, he manages to charm you.

He takes a slow drag, exhaling with a sigh that’s more satisfaction than relief. “You’re quiet,” he notes, eyes still on you, flicking amber in the low light. “Did I scare you off, or… did you just like it too much to talk?”

You laugh softly, pulling the sheets around yourself. “Maybe a little of both,” you admit, feeling the heat still lingering on your face.

He smirks, that dangerous grin that always makes your heart stutter. “Good,” he mutters, taking another drag. The smoke tastes bitter, sharp, like the night itself, and somehow it fits him perfectly - always a little dark, a little dangerous, a little addictive.

You watch him lean against the sill, cigarette between long fingers, and you realize you don’t want to leave this moment. You don’t want to face the world outside this room, because the world outside never feels as raw, as electric, as dangerous as it does when it’s just the two of you.

“Don’t think this changes anything,” he says suddenly, voice softening in a way that makes you want to argue, want to press your body back to his. “We- this… it’s just tonight.”

You nod, swallowing, though your chest aches. “I know,” you whisper, because deep down you know he’s right. And yet, somehow, you don’t care.

He exhales smoke slowly, watching it curl toward the ceiling. “Still,” he says, turning to face you, eyes glinting, “I’m glad you’re here.”

There’s a pause, the kind that drags, filled with the unspoken understanding between the two of you. Then he flicks ash from the cigarette, leans down, and brushes his lips against your forehead. “Don’t get attached,” he murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear.