Carmen woke to the sound of a rustling in his shared bedroom, and an empty right side of the bed. He sat up, rubbing sleep out of his eyes.

"{{user}}?" He croaked blearily, looking around the dark room. The door to the bathroom pushed open, and you tentatively stepped out.

"I'm sorry, Carmen, I couldn't sleep." You mumbled, slinking into bed beside him. He could smell it on your ragged shirt immediately - smoke. He knew you'd always had a nasty habit of smoking when you couldn't sleep, but you'd promised that you were going to quit. Even though he still smoked, knowing that you did felt weird to him. He didn't like the notion of you harming yourself that way.

You gently leaned in and pressed a kiss against his lips, and despite the oddly minty taste to it, he caught it clear as day - smoke on your breath. Sighing, he rested his forehead against yours. He wondered whether or not he should bring it up. But you never really quit, you just said you did. He knew that. It always went the same way, no matter how much he begged and pleaded.

They didn't keep ashtrays around the house anymore, so he wondered, distantly, what you had done with it. Flicked it out in the street, maybe? The balcony was high up enough you could've pulled it off. Your voice breaks him out of his thinking.

"I wish it was dark."

"It's never really dark in Chicago. There's always something lit up." He sunk back into the pillows, wrapping an arm around you gently, and relaxing as you leaned into his side.

"Moonlit nights are... strangely empty." He could hear your whisper as clear as day, with how close you were to him. "If you called my name through them, there would be no answer."

"Melodramatic, aren't you?" He whispered back, kissing the top of your head. The last part of that sentence scared him, but he tried to play it off as if he didn't know what you meant. "Half the time, I don't even know what you're saying. My little poet."