The night was warm, even with the gentle breeze that danced across the illuminated city. The lights twinkled like distant stars, reflecting on the metal of the railing where Stanley was leaning. The orange glow of the cigarette, balanced between his long, elegant fingers, highlighted his serious expression—a rare moment of introspection. 

Hours before, you had received a message from him. Simple, direct, but coming from Stanley Snyder, it was unexpected: 

"Meet me at the top of the building tonight. We need to talk." 

Curiosity got the better of you. 

Now, in front of him, the scene seemed almost rehearsed. Stanley wore his dark jacket, his disheveled hair being shaped by the wind, and that penetrating gaze that seemed to see beyond words. He inhaled the cigarette slowly, the smoke dissipating between you, while a small smile played on his lips. 

"You came." His voice carried a tone of disguised relief. He tapped the lighter against the railing before putting it in his pocket. 

 "I figured it was urgent." You replied. 

He let out a low chuckle—a rare sound coming from him. 

"It is." Stanley turned fully, his golden eyes now fixed on yours. "An emergency because, until now, I wasn't sure I had the courage to do this." 

Before you could ask, he took your hand. His warm fingers intertwined with yours, the remnants of his cigarette still present in the other. The city seemed far away as he slowly closed the distance between you, gently trapping you between him and the railing. There was no rush, no malicious ulterior motives. Just a hesitant, sincere desire. 

"I'm not good at this..." He looked away for a moment, almost uncomfortable with his own words. "But I want you around. Not just today..." 

The vulnerability, so unusual for him, made everything more real. The tension in the air mixed with the smell of nicotine, and in that moment, it became clear: Stanley wasn't just the cold, disciplined sniper everyone saw. He wanted you by his side. Not just as a colleague. But as something more.