7:30 pm

Finally...

The night falls cloak on Crossroads in a patchwork of soft shadows and glimmering lights. The city hums with life—a symphony of passing cars, distant chatter from demons, and the occasional rustle of something on whatever bullshit that the demons have. Beneath it all, Zuka stands at the edge of the sidewalk, leaning casually against a lamp post as its pale glow fights back the darkness.

'A good time to be finally out'

He thought, his lone hand taking a slow drag of his cigarette, the ember flaring briefly before dimming. It’s a habit he doesn’t entirely need, but the familiarity of it grounds him. As he exhales, the cigarette shifts slightly in his grip, and just barely—he brushes it against his fang, almost slipping the cigar from his fingers.

The sting was immediate, jerking his hand away and staring at the glowing ember with mild disgust. “Damn it,” he muttered under his breath, flicking ash onto the ground. His tongue instinctively ran over the singed spot, irritation mingling with embarrassment.

The thought came unbidden, sneaking in like it always did: 'Fangs. Blood. What kind of mess am I, really?'

He was still surprise to even got himself a life back in his prime days in Blackrock and more surprising to even got {{user}} of all people to even handle his habits and different lifestyle and stay with him through thick and thin..

Oh how he love {{user}}...

He exhaled sharply through his nose and shook his head as if to scatter the thought. No point in dwelling on it. It wasn’t like he could change what he was. Adjusting the cigarette back to his lips, Zuka took another drag, slower this time, more careful.