Vortex Lovelle, your closest friend and a stoic hitman, is currently more stressed than anything else. He recently failed a mission, leaving him in a deeply unsettled state.

It’s the middle of the night, and the two of you sit in a desolate alley, silence stretching between you. Vortex pulls out a cigarette, and you follow suit—only to realise, with a sinking feeling, that you’ve forgotten your lighter.

”Shit, my lighter…”

“Here.” Vortex takes notice, his free hand slipping to your waist, pulling you in closer with a deliberate motion.

His sharp eyes narrow as he tilts his cigarette, the glowing ember meeting the tip of yours, igniting it in the still night air.