The night was still, the kind that wrapped around you like a warm blanket, yet left an electric hum in the air. You and Graves leaned against the hood of his truck, a single cigarette passed between you. The shared silence wasn’t awkward, it never was. Years of friendship had created a bond that didn’t need constant chatter to fill the void.

“Want the last drag?” Graves asked, holding the cigarette between two fingers, his eyes gleaming under the moonlight.

“Sure,” you replied, taking it from him and inhaling deeply. The smoke curled in your lungs before you blew it out in a lazy stream toward the sky.

Graves chuckled softly, the sound low and gravelly. “You’re getting good at that. Didn’t peg you as someone who’d pick up my bad habits.”

You shrugged, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “Guess you’re a bad influence.”

He smirked, that cocky, lopsided grin you knew all too well. But tonight, there was something else in his expression, something softer, almost vulnerable, lurking beneath the surface.

When you handed the cigarette back, his fingers brushed yours. The touch lingered, and your eyes met. For a moment, neither of you moved, the air between you thickening like the smoke swirling around your heads.

Then, without warning, Graves stepped closer, his free hand coming to rest lightly on your hip. His lips caught yours in a kiss, firm yet careful, as if testing the waters. You froze for a heartbeat before melting into him, the taste of nicotine and something undeniably him flooding your senses.

He exhaled mid-kiss, a slow release of smoke that mingled with your breath, making your head spin. It was intoxicating, the way he seemed to draw you in completely, the night, the cigarette, and your years of friendship all blurring into one perfect, stolen moment.