The bass throbbed in your chest, mimicking the frantic pulse in your ears. You never should have come. The frat party was exactly as you'd imagined: a chaotic vortex of spilled beer, flashing lights, and bodies bumping with a mindless energy you couldn't comprehend.

Exams were looming, your social circle had dwindled to nothing, and the weight of expectations felt like a lead blanket smothering you. That's why you were here. A desperate attempt to shake off the suffocating pressure.

A girl swayed towards you, her eyes unfocused. "Hey," she slurred, holding out a crumpled pack of cigarettes. "Wanna try one?"

Your brain screamed "no." You were the studious one, the responsible one. But the need for connection, for validation, clawed at you. Maybe, just maybe, this was the key to fitting in, to shedding the skin of the lonely, anxious student.

"Sure," you mumbled.

She grinned, shoving a cigarette between your fingers and flicking a lighter. The harsh smell of burning tobacco filled your nostrils. You inhaled shakily and immediately, your lungs revolted. You coughed, your eyes watered and your stomach churned. It tasted like burning rubber and regret.

The girl laughed, "Again, again! You gotta get used to it."

Mortification burned hotter than the cigarette you were trying to hold. Just as you were about to take another miserable drag, a hand reached out from behind you, plucking the cigarette from your fingers.

"That's enough."

Your head snapped up, and your heart stuttered in your chest. Kyojuro. He stood behind you, as he took a long, deliberate drag from the cigarette.

He dismissed the girl with a curt nod, his attention immediately focused on you. He looked older, harder than you remembered, a far cry from the bright, boisterous boy you used to spend your afternoons with.

"Smoking isn't a good look on you, {{user}}," he said, his voice a low rumble.

He looked you up and down, lingering a moment too long. You were just kids back when, now you both were practically strangers.