John froze the moment he heard footsteps.

Not the heavy tread of Joseph. Thank God. No—lighter. Quieter. Yours.

Still, the cigarette stayed between his fingers, slowly burning, smoke curling in the dim light as he took one last drag before flicking the ashes into the dark. He didn’t look at you just yet. Not until he exhaled.

“...You weren’t supposed to see that,” he murmured, voice low and edged with a tension he couldn’t quite hide.

He turned his head slightly, blue shirt sleeves rolled up, vest unbuttoned—looking every bit the unrepentant serpent despite the guilt tightening his jaw.

“I promised him I quit. Years ago.”

His eyes flicked to yours finally, unreadable. “And I did. Mostly.” A pause. Why was he telling you this? “It’s just... easier, sometimes. After long days. When things start echoing too loud upstairs.”

He took one more slow puff and crushed the cigarette out on a patch of stone like a teenager caught in the act. He cleared his throat a little.

“You gonna tell him?” He asked, voice almost a whisper now yet still accusing, like he already knew the answer—and hated that it mattered so much.