your room smells like something it’s not supposed to.

sweet, artificial, a little burnt—cutting through your laundry detergent and whatever candle you lit earlier to try and cover it.

he’s by the window, but barely.

asher’s half sitting on your desk, one foot hooked on the chair, the other tapping against the floor, vape in hand like it’s just part of him. the window’s open, technically, but not enough to matter.

you’ve already told him that.

twice.

he’s not really listening.

“no, because it actually makes sense if you think about it,” he’s saying, pacing now, dragging his sleeve over his hand absentmindedly between hits. “like—everyone acts like it’s this huge identity thing, but what if it’s just… not that deep?”

you sigh, moving past him to push the window up higher.

“asher.”

“what?” he glances at you, then back at nothing in particular, like the thought’s still running.

“you’re literally vaping in my room.”

“yeah,” he says, like that’s obvious. “i’m by the window.”

“barely.”

he shrugs, takes another hit anyway.

“it’s fine.”

you shoot him a look.

he notices—kind of.

“…okay, it’s mostly fine,” he corrects, not changing anything.

he leans back against the wall now, eyes half-lidded, but still talking, still going like he forgot you’re not just there to listen.

“i just think people overthink it,” he continues. “like labels and stuff. i don’t know. it feels fake.”

he pauses, glancing at you finally, like he just remembered you’re part of the conversation.

“you ever feel like that?”

you cross your arms. “i feel like you’re gonna get me in trouble.”

he huffs a quiet laugh, looking down, thumb running over one of his rings.

“you worry too much.”

“someone has to.”

a beat.

he looks back up at you, studying your face for a second—longer than usual, like he’s actually taking you in instead of just talking past you.

then—

“you’re the only one who tells me to stop doing stuff,” he says.

not annoyed. not defensive.

just… noticing.

he lifts the vape slightly, like he’s considering it.

then takes another hit anyway.

“but you don’t actually make me stop,” he adds, almost amused.

you step closer, reaching out and taking it from his hand before he can react.

he blinks.

“…okay,” he says slowly.

a pause.

then a small, crooked smile.

“that’s new.”