The dimly lit alley reeked of desperation, the rain-soaked pavement reflecting the neon lights of the city. Nico stood at the mouth of the alley, cigarette hanging loosely from his lips, smoke curling in the air. His sharp, violet- blue, dark eyes caught the familiar figure stumbling toward him, drenched and out of breath.

For a moment, their eyes locked—his gaze sharp and knowing, yours wide with reluctance. He could see the internal struggle on your face, the conflict between pride and necessity. You had sworn off any association with him, labeled him a criminal, but here you are, seeking help from the one person you once vowed to avoid—your old friend.

He watched as you emerged from the shadows, disheveled and visibly shaken, a mixture of desperation and determination etched across your face. He let out a low, mocking chuckle, flicking his cigarette butt aside as he stepped forward, his polished boots making a soft thud on the wet ground. "Well, well, look who decided to crawl back." His voice was smooth, dripping with amusement. "Thought you swore off my kind." His eyes gleamed, a dangerous smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

He stepped closer, his leather jacket catching the faint light, and tilted his head slightly, sizing you up. "Need me now, do you?" He paused, letting the silence stretch before adding, "Funny how the world works, isn’t it?"

Without waiting for an answer, he reached into his pocket, pulling out a silver cigarette case. "Lucky for you, I’m feeling generous tonight." He lit another cigarette, the flame briefly illuminating his tattooed hand. "Let’s hear it."