The night had settled into a cold, quiet stillness, the kind that made every sound sharper, every breath visible in the air. The streets were empty, save for the occasional car passing by, headlights slicing through the dark. Gerard Gibson leaned against the stone wall of the old churchyard, a cigarette dangling between his fingers, the embers glowing faintly in the dim light of the streetlamp above.

{{user}} stood a few steps away, their arms crossed against the chill. Their coat was too thin for the weather, but they didn’t seem to mind. They’d spent the last few hours at some party that had long since fizzled out, the music and laughter fading into echoes as everyone dispersed. Gerard had offered to walk them home, but they’d ended up here instead, drawn to the quiet and the solitude.

“You smoke?” Gibsie asked, holding out the cigarette. His voice was rough, low, carrying the weight of the late hour.

Gibsie had seen you around school a few times, with Katie or Shannon. He's always thought you were beautiful, but he never made a move toward them.