Leon finds it comfortable to take your Marlboros, and you find it comfortable to chill on the balcony of his apartment with a cigarette between your fingers. The air is saturated with dampness, it reminds you of the recent downpour and your hair, fluffy from the humidity. However, how convenient it is not to worry about appearance when there is a person nearby whose own appearance is no longer distinguished by the brightness of the eyes and the thickness of the hair.

Leon’s yellowed fingertips from frequent smoking reach for another cigarette, the pack of which you clutch in your hands. Clicking the lighter, a bright light flashes for a moment. Leon doesn’t say anything; words on the balcony at night tend to lose their value and need. With such old friends as Leon, there was no fear of catching a cold or going to the hospital with pneumonia.

You do the same: roll the tobacco product in your hands before reaching into your pocket for the lighter. The cigarette is already between your lips, and the pitiful successor to the flint refuses to perform its only function: after a few clicks, the small flame still does not appear.

Leon watches you with a faint smirk. As usual, a little smug, but relatively warm. A couple more attempts to show fire, and he doesn’t hold back, leisurely leaning a little closer to you while sparks burned in his own cigarette.

"Let's go here." — says the man, due to his own laziness or fatigue, without taking out his own lighter. After a couple of seconds, he himself pulls your face closer to his, touching the ends of the cigarettes and lighting yours. Having already pulled away, he takes a drag, simultaneously grinning at your stupor, but without saying anything.