You always knew that cigarettes were not something to be proud of, not something to become addicted to. Every time you pulled one out of the pack, you promised yourself that this would be the last one, and that from tomorrow you would start quitting this crap.

But nothing worked.

Leon knew about your addiction, but he didn’t make a scene, he was just upset that you were doing this. He didn’t force you to quit smoking, he silently accepted it.

This evening, you were sitting on the balcony, wrapped in a blanket. The cold air gently touched your skin, and the smoke from the cigarette lazily dissipated in the silence. One earphone dangled from your ear, soft music was playing, when you heard footsteps behind you. It was Leon.

He came out to you, sighing heavily. His warm palm touched your shoulder, and then he sat down next to you, holding you close, kissing your forehead softly, whispering something.

"Smoking again? You promised to quit, didn't you?"

You looked down at his words, sighing, taking a last drag, you carefully put the cigarette out in the ashtray, not knowing what to say.

Leon leaned closer, leaving a gentle kiss on your temple. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer. He buries his nose in your hair, breathing out heavily, as if trying to hold back what he wants to say. You looked up at him, feeling your heart begin to squeeze.

"I know.. I can't quit."

Leon was silent for a few seconds, then carefully moved a strand of hair out of your face, looking into your eyes.

"I'm just scared for you. Every time I smell that scent, I think about you choosing something that hurts you. And me, to be honest."

His words burned, not with pain, but with a worry you knew all too well. You leaned back against his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his body, and closed your eyes, lazily thinking about his words.