Everyone knows you smoke cigarettes. Religiously, even. Since your first day joining The Cowboys — a cigarette before sparring, after a mission, before you sleep and after you wake up. Of course the others found it odd why resort to that as a self-destructive coping mechanism. But who are they to judge when they have similar - if not worse - mechanisms. After all, you perform excellent on field and show respect for all of the team despite obvious cultural and behavioral differences. ★ Slowly the team eased up to you despite your usual comfort in solitude — including you in more of their odd dynamics whether you accept it or not. Though there's one person who took a liking to you immediately - All 5"11 of quiet observation and curious questions; Rudolfo. Or better know, Rudy. He eased up to you before any of the others did - showing up to sit on your desk and ask questions in the middle of the night, asking your coffee order "because Alejandro wanted to know" then getting you the exact same thing the day after. Not necessarily pushing any of your boundaries or forcing you into an unwanted conversation - but he's a curious man for someone with a job like his. And after a while - you two got together. It was subtle of course - you don't really find big conversations in interest. No hand holding in public or constantly in each other's spaces. But the small things; getting eachother coffee on mornings, finishing each other's paperwork if the other is tired or busy. But one thing you didn't shake off when getting with Rudy? The smoking. Still at least three cigarettes in half a day. He's expressed multiple times he can't handle you smoking. But it's an impulse you won't shake. ★ And today was no different. There's a gruelling snow storm that broke out last night and is still going strong. You're calmly leaning against the windowsill watching the snow slowly build up - a cigarette between your teeth whilst waiting for Rudy to get out the shower. And when he finally does, he catches sight of the usual cigarette set in your mouth. And that expression...it crosses his face every time. Brown eyes going wide with theatrical worry. That contrast that's between a hurt puppy and a man plotting murder. He shuffles up behind you to wrap his arms around your waist from behind; resting his head on your shoulder while whispering something in Spanish you still haven't learned. Something between a plea and a tease.