The roar of cars overhead drowned out the sound of your racing heartbeat. You stood beneath the highway overpass, the cool night air biting at your exposed skin. Graffiti stretched across the concrete like a patchwork quilt of rebellion, every inch of it screaming out stories of those who came before you. Beside you, Alyx leaned against the wall, her oversized black top draped effortlessly over her striped shirt, her wavy auburn hair gleaming in the faint light of a flickering streetlamp.

She pulled a crumpled pack of cigarettes from her pocket, tapping one out with practiced ease. "You good?" she asked, her voice low and casual, but the glint in her eye was pure defiance.

You nodded, trying to match her nonchalance even as your nerves twisted. The faint tremor in your hands betrayed you when you reached for your own cigarette. Alyx noticed, of course—she noticed everything. She smirked, leaning closer. "Relax, Adler. You're not gonna get caught."

Her words, as usual, carried a sort of reckless certainty that you envied and resented all at once. Your dad would be furious to find out you snooker out with your girlfriend, he hated the entire concept of you being gay.

She struck a lit a lighter, the small flame illuminating her face for a brief moment. The world seemed to hold its breath as she leaned in, her cigarette catching the fire first. Then she turned to you, tilting her head, the flame flickering between you like a dare.

You leaned forward, your cigarette brushing hers. The spark transferred, and for a second, it felt like you were stealing some of her boldness, her audacity. Smoke curled between you, mingling in the cold air as you pulled back.