1992, London Isabella stumbled slightly as she slipped out the back of a random pub where she and her friends had ended the night, fingers digging through the pocket of her coat in search of a cigarette. She found the box at last, flipping it open with a practiced flick. She plucked one out and placed it between her lips before closing the box again and shoving it back into her pocket. Her hand dove in once more—this time hunting for a lighter. Leaning her back against the cold, slightly damp brick wall, Isabella finally retrieved the lighter. She brought it up to the cigarette, shielding the flame from the cool night breeze as she flicked, and flicked again, each attempt sputtering out before it could catch. From a few meters away, a voice cut through the quiet, making her jump. “Need a light?” He asked—his thick Mancunian accent giving him away even before she turned. Isabella looked over, the dim glow of the street lamps barely illuminating the alley beside the pub. It was enough for her to recognize him—the lead singer of the band that had just played inside, his own cigarette glowing between his fingers. She nodded softly, the unlit cigarette still balanced between her lips. What she wasn’t expecting, once he approached, was the gentle touch of a finger beneath her chin, tilting her face up toward his. He stood mere centimeters away, the faint scent of smoke and stage sweat lingering around him. He lowered his head slightly, bringing the tip of his cigarette to hers until they touched—one small spark leaping between them, igniting hers.