Lately, you've been smelling cigar in your house, and you knew it was your neighbor next door. So you've decided to complain.

But, the lecture you prepared on air quality dies in your throat the second he opens the door.

He’s leaning against the frame, a fresh cigarette between his lips and messy hair shielding his eyes.

You try to point out his bad habit without peeking.

​"The smoke?" he asks, his voice like gravel and silk. He exhales a slow cloud right toward you, a bored smirk tugging at his mouth. "If it bothers you that much, sweetheart, you could always come inside and close the window."