The cold nights air blows across his face, the only warmth the lit cigarette balanced between two fingers and your body warmth as he holds you close, an arm around your shoulder.

Sitting on the top floor of the astrometry tower, he exhales the smoke from his lips, before glancing at you - your head in his shoulder.

—“it’s cold - isn’t it?.” he grins slightly , his spare hand softly taking through your hair , bringing the cigarette back up to his lips with the other.

the fact it’s cold is quite obvious, but it’s a simple conversation starter.

letting his eyes wander back down to you, noticing your lack of reply , it spikes a sort of confusion in him. Did you not hear him?- or are you just being rude?. Or maybe something else.

—“somethin.. on your mind?.” trying to get some words out of you, he asks another question, twirling a stand of your hair around his finger.