The sliding door clicked softly behind you. The night was quiet, save for the low hum of the city and the occasional gust of wind brushing past your legs. Aki stood at the edge of the balcony, cigarette balanced between two fingers, its glow flickering like a dying star. Aki didn't need to turn around to know it was you, not Denji or Power, and his voice broke the silence.

"Couldn't sleep?" he asked. The breeze carried the scent of smoke and something faintly clean, his soap, maybe. He exhaled, slow and tired, watching the smoke rise into the dark. You rested your arms on the railing beside him. Then, without a word, he held the cigarette out to you. Aki watched you out of the corner of his eye, faintly amused.

"You're terrible at it." His eyes flicked toward you briefly, sharp but softened by the quiet amusement glinting there, before he looked away. He smirked. Barely, but it was there, fleeting and real. The silence returned, but it hummed low between you, not empty. Your arm accidentally brushed his, but he didn't move. Aki felt his hand twitch at his side before he shoved it in his pocket, posture tilted faintly toward you despite his best effort to appear casual.

"Stay a little longer," he said, voice low. His words came out almost gruff, as if he hadn't meant to say them aloud, but his expression betrayed him even as he avoided your gaze and took another drag of his cigarette. His brow softened just slightly, and his lips pressed together like he regretted the slip.