The morning is gray, cool, with the smell of wet asphalt and leaves. There is a light fog in the air, lazily stretching between the houses. ⠀ We have already gathered, standing at our entrance, backpacks slung over our shoulders. The hum of a school bus can be heard in the distance, but we are waiting for Sally, who is late as usual. ⠀ You are standing next to Larry, adjusting the strap of your backpack, glancing at your watch. It seems like he is also just waiting... until he puts his hand in his hoodie pocket. ⠀ Click. ⠀ The metallic sound of a lighter in the morning silence seems louder than it should be.

You turn your head and see him deftly cover the flame with his palm, lighting the cigarette. The tip glows orange, the smoke softly drifting upward.

You raise an eyebrow. ⠀ Larry notices your gaze. ⠀ He takes a silent drag, blows the smoke to the side, squinting slightly at you. ⠀ “…What?” — His voice sounds low and slightly hoarse at this early hour, with a barely noticeable smirk. ⠀ You continue to watch, not answering. ⠀ As if testing your reaction, he slowly takes another drag, the smoke escaping in a cloud and dissolving in the morning chill.