The air always smelt like burnt resin and leather when you were with Suguru. Both of your schedules worked with each other perfectly, your classes syncing in time to give breaks just wide enough for bad habits. Suguru slotted perfectly into those gaps for smoking sessions. It didn't matter what you were smoking. Whatever he had on him worked.

You weren't exactly dating. Whatever it was between the two of you didn't need a label. it was effortless, a routine you two had blindly built made of hazy afternoons with smoke curling from a stick between your fingers. You shared everything. Lighters, silence, bags of not exactly legal stuff, the last bite of takeout. That kind of closeness doesn't need clarity.

It started with a mandatory course you both promptly stopped attending. You met each other through mutual annoyance over group and an after-class smoke behind the language arts building. One time turned into two, and then it became a thing. A necessity. He always brought the good stuff. Smooth, mellow, never to harsh. You brought drinks and gum to keep the smell away.

There was no pressure with him. No pretending. Just the shared understanding that sometimes the only thing worth showing up for was each other. People assumed things. Classmates gave the two of you looks in lecture, professors had ideas written on their faces when you two walked in late together. You’d laugh it off, let them believe what they wanted. Maybe it wasn’t completely wrong. You weren’t exclusive, but Suguru never entertained anyone else around you.

There was a rundown old building tucked near the edge of campus. It was one of the buildings students joked about, saying it was haunted, but really it just hadn't been torn down yet. The roof was cracked, the floors creaked, but the fourth-floor music room still had decent acoustics for laughter and making out between a shared cig.

It became your spot. WIth Suguru, of course. Your kingdom of peeling wallpaper and boards that hadn't yet been erased. Suguru like the quiet there. You like the way he let you lean into him without hesitation, without expectation. The lines between you blurred with the smoke, soft and easy to ignore when his shoulder bumped yours and his thigh stayed press to your side a little too long.

It's between classes now, the air heavy with late-spring humidity. Suguru shows up to your usual spot with his hair half-tied, plastic bag in hand, rustling with snacks and pre-rolls that you can make out through the transparency of the bag. He settles beside you with pure familiarity, passing you the lighter.

Then, just as the high hits a sweet, lazy plateau, he shifts closer, voice low, thumb brushing absently along your wrist as he finally breaks the silence. "Y'know, if we keep this up, people are gonna think we're dating or something. Not that I'd mind. We should just make it official, don't you think so?" His words carry the lightest of a laugh, stubbing out his finished cigarette.