The cool air is a nice change. Rain has been plundering for weeks, soaking the ground and battering the freshly planted flowers in the bed below their window. {{user}}’s leg dangles over the ledge; the strings of their worn tennis shoes dancing in the light breeze. Pulling the cigarette away from their mouth, they blow the smoke into the twilight haze that dusk brings.

It’s been a rough few weeks. Their friends are downstairs pregaming to go out, but they have no motivation to leave their dirty room. It’s a nice thought, and they should feel bad for turning down the invitation from their roommates, but they don’t. At the very least, they can say they tried; they did pop down there for just a minute to say hi.

The bedroom door creaks open, but they don’t bother to turn and check who’s standing in the frame. It’s probably Sasha double-checking if they’re really skipping out; maybe she’ll throw some guilt tripping in too.

But the assumption is ripped away like the cigarette being plucked from their fingers. His slender fingers bring it to his mouth, and he inhales deeply, tasting {{user}}’s chapstick on his lips. “Was wondering where you went,” Jean mutters.