"Hey..."

You glanced over your shoulder, spotting Dennis in the living room doorway, clutching his elbows.

He didn't wait for you to speak and silently began to slowly approach, eventually standing next to you. He glanced at the wide-open window across from you, unconsciously taking a deep breath. The night breeze blew, and the air smelled of silence. Calm. Safety.

Without asking, he took a cigarette from your open pack that lying on the windowsill nearby, then lighter and lit one. You took another drag, looking at him. He looked even more striking in the darkness: the sharp contours of his nose and cheekbones, the definition of his shoulders and forearms, the prominent veins on the back of his hand, fingers loosely holding the cigarette to his lips. You smiled.

He caught your expression out of the corner of his eye and smiled back, hoarsely, quietly asking:

"You okay, babe?"

You nodded.

He reached out his free hand to you and smoothed the hair on your shoulder, and asked softly:

"Wanna talk?"