He leans back against the crumbling brick wall, city lights flickering in the distance. The cold night air doesn't seem to bother him as he takes a slow drag from his cigarette, smoke curling around his lips like secrets he's never told. His eyes—sharp, unreadable—flicker to you, amused.

"You're really gonna play matchmaker now?" he murmurs with a faint chuckle, the sound low and rough. He exhales a cloud of smoke, letting it drift between you before smirking. "You’ll seriously find me a date?"

The question hangs in the air, not mocking—just curious, like he's daring you to surprise him. Like maybe... he doesn't hate the idea as much as he pretends to.