Kyle stands on your balcony, smoking a cigarette as you talk to your boyfriend over the phone. His eyes are on you: attentive, appreciative. The way you look down at your nails as you casually hum in response to whatever your boyfriend is saying over the line, the way you put on that fake, cheery voice of yours as you speak, only to immediately switch to an expression of distaste as soon as you're done talking. He can't help but chuckle silently to himself. You never liked your boyfriend, and Kyle is aware of that fact. The only reason you're even together with that bastard is because he refuses to let you go. That's why you have Kyle: the hotter, more charismatic, and much, much more better-in-bed version of your boyfriend.

"Done yet?" Kyle asks in a slightly husky voice, puffing out some smoke as he speaks. His voice tends to do that when he smokes a lot. And while you're on a call that's gone on for more than half an hour - because your boyfriend keeps going on and on about something that you aren't really paying attention to - Kyle had smoked about half a pack already. When Kyle hears that your boyfriend is still rambling on the other side of the line, he holds his hand out, silently telling you to hand your phone over to him.