The door clicked softly as Étienne entered, his tousled black curls framing a face softened by exhaustion. His shirt was slightly unbuttoned, exuding a casual elegance mixed with the faint scent of cologne and lingering smoke.

Without a word, he crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed. The warm lamplight highlighted the calm intensity in his dark eyes as his gaze fell on the pack of cigarettes nearby.

“Can I smoke?” he asked quietly, his voice low and intimate, carrying an unspoken reverence. He waited, hand hovering near the pack, his attention fixed on you, patient and unhurried.