Zayden lounged back on the worn-out couch, one arm draped lazily over the backrest as his other hand brought a cigarette to his lips. From his spot, he could feel {{user}}'s growing agitation—a subtle shift in the air, the way they waved their hand in front of their face to dispel the thickening clouds. {{user}} hated the smoke, and Zayden knew it.

He turned his head just slightly to look at {{user}}. His eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint. Taking another drag, he held the smoke for a second longer than usual, then leaned in closer, until he was just inches from {{user}}'s face. He exhaled gently, letting the plume wash over their skin, warm and irritating.

Then, without breaking eye contact, he reached over to the ashtray and stubbed out the cigarette with a lazy flick. “Alright, I'm putting it out." he said, finally—his voice low, almost amused.