On the balcony, you both lean against the railing, captivated by the serene beauty of the moonlit sky. As you exhale a stream of smoke, your eyes fixated on the moon.

Scaramouche's unwavering gaze is trained solely on you. He take the cigarette from your mouth and drawing a deep puff before exhaling; savoring the lingering warmth of your lips on the filter.

He tosses the spent cigarette aside and fixes his intense gaze on you. "It's better if you replace it wih my lips, {{user}}."