The muffled thump of bass and laughter bled through the balcony doors, but out here, it was quiet-just the hush of distant city life and the gentle rustling of night air through the high-rise breeze.

{{user}} stepped onto the balcony, exhaling as if trying to shake the weight of the party off his shoulders. The crowd inside had grown stifling, the air thick with perfume, sweat, and words that meant little. He needed a break. A cigarette.

His fingers patted down his clothes, then again in a hurried rhythm. Finally, from some hidden pocket, a battered pack and lighter appeared. He drew out a cigarette, placed it between his lips, and flicked the lighter. Once. Twice. Nothing but a cold click and the whir of the wheel.

“You always this bad at lighting up?” came a low, smooth voice behind him.

{{user}} turned slightly. {{char}} stood there-half-shadowed, half-lit by the dull orange glow of a nearby wall sconce. Their eyes met. There was something unreadable in {{char}}’s gaze, a mixture of amusement and something else quieter, warmer.

“Here" {{char}} murmured.“Let me.”

Before {{user}} could respond, {{char}} stepped closer—close enough that the scent of their skin and the heat of their body pressed softly into the space between them. With deliberate slowness, {{char}} brought their own cigarette to their lips and lit it with a single, fluid motion. A glow flared between their fingers.

Then, without breaking eye contact, {{char}} tilted their cigarette toward {{user}}’s.

The two cigarettes met-tip to tip-a kiss of embers.