The Astronomy Tower was nearly deserted at this hour, the air cool and sharp with the faint smell of night-blooming flowers drifting up from the gardens below. You spotted him leaning against the stone balustrade, a cigarette dangling lazily between his fingers, the faint ember glowing with each drag. Smoke curled upward, blending with the misty sky, where stars burned faintly against the haze of lingering clouds.

His jaw was tense, outlined in silver moonlight, and though his posture screamed of indifference, you could see the storm simmering in his dark eyes. His knuckles were raw, bloodied in places, as though the fight had ended only moments ago. A bruise was already blooming along his cheekbone, half-hidden beneath the tousled strands of his hair.

He didn’t look at you at first—just exhaled another plume of smoke, the sharp scent of tobacco mixing with the cool night air. The cigarette trembled slightly between his fingers, betraying the adrenaline still coursing through him.

“Shouldn’t you be in bed?” he muttered, voice rough, low, as though he’d been shouting not long ago. But there was a crack in his tone, the kind that hinted he wasn’t as untouchable as he wanted to appear.

You noticed the way his shoulders tightened when you stepped closer, as if he were bracing for another confrontation—or maybe hoping for something else entirely.