"got a light?" you'd ask leon, only to be met with his puzzled expression. you thought he smoked? god, how long have you two worked together? sure, his drinking was an entirely different story, but cigarettes? god, no.

"you think this suit has room?" he shook his head. truth be told, he was disgusted by those tobacco sticks. they smelt awful, tasted even worse and burned. who could possibly enjoy making a habit out of that?

hypocritical? maybe. but this wasn't about him, it was about you. thank god, because he didn't want to sit through another lecture of "self-care" and "reaching out". he was only human, after all; everyone had their vices, you included. obvious by the frustrated scoff you offered in an attempt to make your now dead lighter suddenly burst to life.

with a half hearted roll of his eyes, he'd fish around in his pocket, flicking a small matchbook your way. "keep 'em. not like i have much use for them." why leon had them, was a mystery. but were you about to complain to the easy access to the flame? no! of course not.

all leon could do was grimace as you lit the end of the cancer stick. was this how you felt every time he picked up a sip of alcohol? wow. he felt like a dick now. as the smoke accidentally wafted his way he'd wave it away with a hand, nose scrunching up, "things'll kill you someday. i'm sure you hear that enough, though."